Escape
by Sigma Creations
Summary: I wrote this fic several months ago and have only just rediscovered it on my hard drive. Set after 4.3, Ruth is sent into the field and gets into trouble again. Can Harry find and rescue her in time? Told from Ruth's POV. Kudos owns their characters and the rest are my own. Please review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.
1. Chapter 1

_Present day_

She's tired and cold, so very cold. All she wants to do is stay curled up here and sleep forever, welcome the oblivion. She has no energy left to move. But as she lets herself sink into the wet sand, her last thoughts are of him, his frown, his smile, his warm, expressive, hazel eyes, his rich, tender voice calling her name, and something inside her comes to life again, a spark of determination, a spark of hope. He'd saved her life and she doesn't have the right to throw it away like this. He'd pushed her out of the way of the rocks when they'd been thrown against them, shielding her with his body, protecting her. And then she'd lost him. He'd given her the only life vest, and when he'd been knocked unconscious by the blow, she hadn't been able to hold onto him. She'd tried; she'd tried desperately to hold him, to keep his face out of the water, but the waves and the current had been too strong and he'd slipped from her numb fingers and had been swallowed up by the sea.

* * *

_Two days ago_

She's scared, so very scared. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was just going to be another small field op like last time and she'd been excited about it. Harry was trusting her again, obviously pleased with her performance before. What was it he'd said? "I've no doubt you'll pull it off with the same aplomb as last time, Ruth." She smiles briefly as she remembers his warm voice and gentle gaze as he'd said it. So she'd gone out to meet the mark, but something had gone wrong. He'd known who she was and before she could react, she'd been knocked out by a blow to the back of the head.

When she'd come to, she'd discovered that she was on some kind of boat. She could tell from the salty smell of the air and the way the floor pitched slightly. The room, or rather cabin, had been pitch black, but someone was sitting close to her; she could hear their breathing. "Who's there?" she'd asked in alarm.

"It's me, Adam," Adam had replied, "You okay?"

She'd sighed in relief and then began to pay attention to her physical condition for the first time. Her head hurt, but there was no other pain except from the ties digging into her wrists where they'd bound her hands together behind her back. "Yes," she'd said. "Just a headache. They knocked me out. Are you all right?"

"Yes," he'd replied. "My leg's a bit painful. They kicked my knee in when I tried to run. Otherwise, I'm fine."

"Where are we? How long have we been here? What are they going to do with us? How did they know?" she'd asked, the questions tumbling out one after another.

"On a boat," he'd answered, "somewhere off the East coast. I don't know what they know. They haven't asked anything yet. We'll just have to wait and see."

So now they're sitting close together, having found each other in the dark, and are waiting, for what, neither of them knows. Hopefully, to be rescued. Please, Harry, she begs silently, please find us.


	2. Chapter 2

_Present day_

But perhaps it's not too late. Perhaps he's also been washed up on the shore, perhaps she can find him. She_ must _find him; she's his only hope. She forces herself to sit up and then stand, her muscles screaming in protest, her hands, feet and face numb, and her whole body trembling from the cold. She staggers for a few steps up the beach, away from relentless pull of the waves as they crash against her legs and knock her over, sucking her towards the sea. The tide must be turning, she realises in a panic as she pushes herself upright again, gritting her teeth in determination.

Once clear of the surf, she turns and looks up and down the beach. She can't see anything. It's almost pitch black and the rain is falling in sheets. She blinks rapidly to clear her vision and raises a shaking hand to shield her eyes from the rain, desperately scanning the area along the surf for any sign of Harry. With every flash of lightning, she can make out the rocks at either end of the beach, sticking out into the ocean, and she can hear the waves pummelling into them. It's rather like being in a nightclub with those flashing black lights that illuminate everything for a few seconds at a time. Only the pulses of light here are less frequent and there is no sign of life, just the desolate landscape of an isolated beach in a storm.

* * *

_Yesterday morning_

It's wonderful to come out on deck and smell the fresh air though she has to blink rapidly and scrunch her eyes up to shield them from the light after being kept so long in the dark. As the man leading her forwards roughly pulls her to an abrupt halt, her eyes have adjusted somewhat and she can see that they've docked somewhere remote. There's just a fisherman's hut next to the narrow, wooden jetty, and being lead along it towards her and Adam, who is standing next to her, his hands bound behind his back, is Harry.

"I've kept my end of the bargain," he says, his voice carrying clearly over to them. "Let them go."

"I don't think so," the dark haired man standing in front of Harry answers with a laugh. "Why would I let them go when I can keep all three of you for insurance until it's over?" He laughs again and tells his men, "Put him inside with the others."

At that moment, however, several things happen at once. Several cars appear out of nowhere and Ruth sees Zaf lean out of the passenger window of the first car and begin shooting. Harry takes a dive into the man on his right, sending him careering off balance into the sea, Adam pitches his weight against the man holding Ruth by the arms and yells for her to run. She attempts to do just that, but loses her footing and falls onto the deck. Next thing she knows, she's being yanked to her feet and hoisted onto someone's shoulders before she's carried down below again, desperately kicking to break free. But even before she's locked back into the cabin, she can feel the yacht begin to move again, speeding away from her rescuers.

"You're going to pay for that, you little bitch," the man who throws her unceremoniously onto the floor growls near her ear before he turns and leaves, locking the door behind him.

She lies there, cowering in the corner in fear. They haven't brought Adam back, and even though part of her hopes this means that he's escaped and is safe with Zaf and the others, another part of her desperately wishes him back to comfort her. It's so much more terrifying on her own. She can well imagine the fate that awaits her at the hands of these madmen. Rape certainly, torture possibly, and if she's lucky, a quick death by gunshot. If she's not, they might dump her overboard to drown. She shivers at the thought and almost jumps when the door opens again.

She scrambles to her feet, pressing herself against the wall of the cabin furthest from the door. The man who brought her in earlier laughs at her fear and says, "Not yet, sweetheart. The boss still has things for me to do. I've brought you a friend." Then he turns and pulls Harry into the room, shoving him hard towards her and laughing as he stumbles a little. "I'll be back later." At the door, he turns and grins wickedly as he adds, "And you can watch, mate." Then chuckling to himself, he closes and locks the door.

She feels tears spring to her eyes and a small sob escapes her lips as she crouches down against the cabin wall. She's never been so scared in her life before. When she feels movement close to her, she looks up in alarm only to find Harry gazing at her in concern, his eyes gentle and kind as he murmurs her name. "Harry," she breathes in relief and gives him an almost smile, the best she can manage right now. He moves next to her and sits down with his back against the wall and she instinctively turns towards him, pressing her face into his shoulder as she fights to hold in the tears that threaten to escape.

"Shhhhh..." he murmurs softly and she's sure she feels his lips press gently against her hair. "I won't let them hurt you, Ruth. I promise. We'll find a way to get out of this mess."

She nods, drawing courage from his words and solid presence. "Adam?" she asks as she lifts her head to look at him.

"I don't know," he shakes his head. "He fell overboard and his hands were tied, but they got us out of there pretty quick, so I hope Zaf had a chance to get to him in time."

She nods and they're quiet for a few moments before she asks, "What are we going to do, Harry?"


	3. Chapter 3

_Present day_

She can't just stand here; she has to find him. "Harry," she calls in desperation as she begins to walk as fast as she can manage along the beach towards the rocks that are nearest to her. Surely those must be the rocks they'd crashed into earlier... She calls his name again, but the wind is so strong that she's sure he wouldn't be able to hear her even if she was standing right next to him. A flash of lighting illuminates the landscape again and she sees a shape that could be a man several yards away, just round the side of a large boulder that had shielded it from view until now.

She runs clumsily towards it, tripping several times before she reaches it and throws herself on her knees beside it. It's definitely a man. "Harry," she says, but gets no response. He's lying on his stomach, his face facing away from her, and as the lightning illuminates her surroundings once more, she sees that the hair on the back on his head is matted with what can only be blood. She hesitates just for a moment, scared to touch him, fearing that he's gone. But then a wave crashes over him, momentarily lifting him a little and dragging him back towards the sea, and with a cry of alarm, she grabs hold of his jacket, pulling in the opposite direction. She has to get him further up the beach. She stands once more, and grabs his jacket firmly with both hands. When the next wave hits, she pulls hard, using the momentum of the water to inch him slowly further up the beach.

Once he's safely out of reach of all but the biggest waves, she takes a deep breath, rolls him over, and with a desperate prayer to the universe, she presses her fingers against the pulse point in his neck. He's wet and cold, so very cold, but then her fingers are also icy, and for a moment, she's not sure if Harry's dead, or if her fingertips are just so numb that they can't feel anything.

There is no pulse.

"Please, Harry," she begs as tears begin to cloud her vision and she leans over him, pressing her lips against his cold, lifeless ones. "Please," she murmurs as she moves her fingers across his skin, thinking that she must surely have the wrong spot. "Don't leave me."

* * *

_Yesterday afternoon_

She can see him looming over her, his face covered by a rough beard, his body odour overpowering, his expression predatory, but she refuses to go to pieces. She's already decided that she's not going to give him the satisfaction of eliciting any emotion from her. Harry has a plan and she has to trust that it will work, even if it'll be harder than they'd thought now that he's tied to the chair as well.

It had been difficult and time consuming, but she'd managed to loosen the bonds tying his hands together earlier so he can slip them off easily though he hadn't had time to do the same for her before their captor had returned. In fact, he'd only just managed to wrap the rope round his wrists in what appeared to be a tight knot before the man had lifted him off the floor, punched him in the face, and before Harry could recover, shoved him in a chair and secured him with a rope wrapped round his chest and another round his ankles. Harry had managed to knee him in the face as he'd attempted to do the latter, but it hadn't served any purpose but to anger the other man who'd retaliated with another punch, this time to Harry's stomach, winding him.

She feels the panic rise inside her as he pulls her to her feet, but she managed to control it, taking deep breaths to steady herself as she seeks out Harry's eyes with her own. He looks calm, his gaze warm and reassuring, and she takes courage from that, convincing herself that he's got everything under control. So she shuts down her mind, losing herself in recitation of poetry inside her head, revisiting her favourite books, imagining what it would feel like to be an Eagle soaring in the sky, picturing herself at the top of the Empire State building in New York gazing out across the city. Part of her brain still registers what's going on, but the most important part is no longer paying attention. She acts like a doll, displaying no emotions as he rips her shirt open and pushes it off her shoulders, tearing off her bra next and groping her breast roughly, pinching her nipple.

"Come on, sweetheart," the oaf growls. "You need to put on a good show. See? Your boss there is watching us. You're not bad looking. I bet he spends all day watching you, lusting after you. I bet he wishes he was me right now, standing here ready to fuck you."

She doesn't even react when Harry replies, "If I was the one in front of her right now, she wouldn't be standing there with that vacant look in her eyes. She'd be _begging_ me to fuck her. But I bet you don't even know what it's like to have a woman beg you to let her please you, not without forcing her."

"You don't know shit," the man replies angrily, releasing her momentarily and turning towards Harry.

"I know a lot of things," Harry replies calmly, "and one of them is that it makes you more of a man to give a woman pleasure than it does to take from her what she doesn't want to give."

"I said shut up!" the man shouts, taking a few steps over to Harry and punching him hard in the stomach. He grunts in pain and the sound serves to bring her back to her surroundings with a jolt. When the man turns back towards her again, undoing her jeans and pulling them and her underwear down, she's overcome by panic and fear.

"Please," she begs softly. "Don't do this, please."

He laughs at her fear and roughly turns her round, pushing her forward over the surface of the table in the corner. She whimpers once as he exposes her, but otherwise makes no sound, biting her lip to stop her cries as the tears slide down her face.

"For Christ's sake!" Harry exclaims, his voice changing as he loses his composure and his anger and fear surface for a moment. "Have some compassion. What if this was your mother or sister?"

"I have no mother or sister," he sneers, "but if you want, I'll do yours next."

"Get your hands off her, you despicable piece of shit," he growls, "or I'll personally castrate you and remove your puny, little prick, so you never bother another woman again."

He laughs, pausing in the act of unbuckling his belt, and says, "And how do you plan on doing that? You've no weapon and you're tied to a chair."

"Come over here, if you're man enough, and I'll tell you," Harry smiles, regaining some of his composure, and she finds herself desperately hoping that this means he's managed to loosen the rope around his chest.

"Later," the man shrugs. "I'm busy." Then he swiftly unbuckles his belt and pulls down his jeans and boxers, letting them pool round his ankles. She whimpers at the sound of the buckle hitting the floor and squeezes her eyes shut as she feels his hands on her hips, but the rough thrust of his cock into her never comes. Instead she hears a strange gurgling sound coming from behind her and feels the man's hands release her. When she hears the scuffling noises, she straightens herself up in alarm, turning to face him, and what she sees has her heart skipping several beats. Harry has the man's neck locked into a hold from behind that is suffocating him. The man is struggling, but his legs are tangled in his trousers and he can't regain his footing. He's fighting Harry with his hands, trying to scratch his face and eyes as he struggles to free himself, but there is such a look of determination and hatred on Harry's face as he hangs on, tightening the pressure on his windpipe with every passing second, that she's sure there's no way in hell the man can break free. "Castration's too good for you," she hears him snarl in the other man's ear.

Recovering from the shock of such an extraordinary change in her circumstances, she quickly moves to help Harry, but discovers that she can't as her jeans are still around her knees. Ashamed suddenly of her nakedness in front of him, she crouches down to pull her bound hands forward under her feet so she can stand and pull her trousers back up. By the time she's finished refastening them and has pulled her shirt closed in front, pushing it into the waistband of her jeans to hold it in place, the man is dead. He's stopped struggling and falls limply to the floor when Harry releases him.

"Harry," she whispers softly as she watches him stand over the man he's just killed, the same expression of disgust and hatred on his face as he bends over to check his pulse and pat down his pockets, looking for a weapon of some kind.

"Yes?" he asks, lifting his gaze to hers as he straightens up, a large, folding, pocket knife in his hand.

"Thank you," she murmurs and feels tears of gratitude and relief spring to her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks even as she attempts to keep them at bay.

"Men like that," he says firmly, "don't deserve to live." He takes several steps towards her until he's standing in front of her, lifting his hand to gently touch her elbow. "Are you all right?" he asks softly, his eyes filling with concern.

"Fine," she nods and wipes at her cheeks with the back of her hands, trying to pull herself together. This is no time for tears. There's a boat load of men like this one who will probably be more than willing to gang rape her in retaliation before they kill them both. "I'll be fine. What are we going to do now?"

"We have to try to escape," he says as he pulls her wrists towards him and cuts her bonds with the knife. "When they find him, they'll probably want retribution and I don't fancy our chances. I reckon it's best if we try to swim to shore. With any luck, the tracker I swallowed is still working and Zaf will be tracking us. Let's look for a couple of life vests and then we'll see if we can spot any land, and hopefully, slip into the water without being seen. Okay?"

She nods, confident that swimming to dry land is something she can manage well, especially with Harry's reassuring presence close by. She's always been a good swimmer.


	4. Chapter 4

_Present day_

It seems that time has stood still as she leans over him, willing him to live, and she's almost given up hope when, miraculously, she thinks she feels a pulse. With a sharp intake of breath, she moves her fingers to the other side of his neck, needing to confirm that she's not dreaming, that there is a pulse, that he's alive. It's there, it's really there! It's very weak, but it's unmistakeably there. He's alive! She turns her head as she leans over him again, hoping to feel his breath on her cheek or see his chest rise as he breathes. It's useless. She can't see a bloody thing and her skin is so cold, she can't feel anything. But surely he _must_ have water in his lungs, she decides. There's no way he could have got here without that happening, seeing as he's unconscious. So she begins chest compressions, murmuring every so often, "Come on, Harry!"

She continues for what seems like hours without stopping. She can't stop. She doesn't want to give up on him, give up hope. The waves no longer reach them, but it makes little difference seeing as the rain is pelting down onto them. "Come on!" she says again, growing angry. "You can't give up, Harry. Section D needs you. _I_ need you."

Suddenly a shape materializes next to her, making her jump and yell in surprise. It's a dog, warm and wet and barking it's head off. She pauses momentarily in her attempts to resuscitate Harry, realising that this dog belongs to someone who might be able to help them. Then a beam of light illuminates her and the dog, and as she turns towards it, she can see it's source bouncing as the person holding it comes running towards them. He doesn't even hesitate before throwing himself onto his knees on the other side of Harry and proffering out the torch. "Here," he shouts. "Hold this." She just makes out his words above the din of the storm, so she takes it from him and watches as he takes over the chest compressions, working feverishly, and as she turns the torch beam onto Harry's face, she can see that his physical strength is what was needed as the water begins to pour out of Harry's mouth. It seems like aeons later that Harry begins to splutter and cough, and the man turns him over into the recovery position as Ruth's eyes fill with tears of relief and gratitude.


	5. Chapter 5

The man opens the door and they follow him into the house. Harry's no longer leaning on Ruth for support, but he keeps his arm round her shoulders anyway and she's grateful for the warmth, comfort and the sheer pleasure of it. She's still somewhat amazed by how quickly he'd recovered from his near drowning, though admittedly she's lost all awareness of time; perhaps they'd been on the beach for hours. The man had only given Harry a moment to catch his breath before coaxing him to get up, alternating between encouragement, demands and threats. At first it didn't seem to be working, but when their rescuer had started shouting orders and abuse at him, making fun of his weakness, Harry had finally began to respond. Something ingrained during his army days or just stubborn male pride, she'd wondered as she'd watched him slowly push himself up on all fours before promptly vomiting several times. She'd moved forward to touch him then, her concern for him increasing by the second, but the man had held her back with his arm, scared perhaps that Harry might collapse in a heap again if she attempted to comfort him. He give Harry a moment to recover before yelling at him again, something that was necessary in order to be heard over the din of the storm, until he'd began trying to stand. This time, she hadn't let him stop her from moving forward, grasping his left arm and slinging it over her shoulder while their rescuer did the same with his right. Harry had had to lean on the pair of them for most of the way, but seemed to get stronger as they approached what looked like the only shelter for miles - the man's stone cottage set back from the beach and, thankfully, towards the nearer of the two headlands.

"Wait here," their saviour instructs as he closes and bolts the door behind them. "The storm's knocked out the power again." They watch as the beam from his torch moves into the kitchen beyond the tiny hall.

"Best get out of these wet things," Harry murmurs softly, his voice croaky from lack of use and the salt water he'd swallowed. It's the first thing either of them has said to the other since he'd pointed out the gathering storm clouds and urged her to swim faster.

"Yes," she whispers hoarsely as he pulls his arm from around her shoulders and she lifts her hands to unbuckle the life vest, but it's too stiff for her to manage, her fingers too cold and numb, her strength spent. She hears the zip of his jacket slide down in the dark and the swishing of sodden fabric as he pulls it off. Then she lets out a sigh of frustration as the buckle refuses to budge.

"All right?" he asks.

"I can't get the buckle undone," she explains, still wrestling with the wretched thing.

"Let me help," he says and she feels his hand connect with her arm and trail down to her elbow and then across her stomach, searching for the buckle in the dark. Once he's located it, it only takes him two seconds to unbuckle it.

"Thanks," she whispers as she removes the vest, her numb fingers making the whole process difficult and slow. She shivers. She doesn't think she's ever felt this cold before. She's just about to throw caution to the wind and ask Harry to hold her in the hope of getting warm again, when their host reappears, carrying an oil lamp. Ruth's hands instinctively drop the vest and wrap around her chest, pulling closed the ripped fabric of her shirt. Harry notices her reaction and discomfort, so he steps in front of her, shielding her almost completely from view with his body. Her heart warms at his thoughtfulness and his desire to protect her, and she steps forward slightly, pressing lightly into his back in gratitude. The move is instinctive and completed before she can think of all the reasons she shouldn't be doing this, but Harry doesn't seem to mind, if anything, he seems pleased, reaching back and squeezing her hand gently with his own, though she can hardly feel it. She shivers from the cold again and turns her gaze on their rescuer.

It's their first glimpse of this stranger who's saved their lives. He's of average height, stocky and looks a little older than Harry, perhaps in his late fifties, with a thick head of silver hair, a rough beard, and very bushy eyebrows. In fact, he looks quite wild and she's suddenly very grateful for Harry's presence, though her rational mind is telling her that it's probably only her recent experience on the boat that's making her fear this man. He's well dressed for the weather, and even though his outer garments are drenched from the storm, he looks like he's warm and dry inside.

"Well, it looks like the phone's out as well," he sighs with resignation. "The number of times I've told them they need to bury the lines, but will they listen?"

"You have no mobile?" Harry croaks with a frown of concern, and she knows what he's thinking. They need to get in touch with the team back on the Grid.

"No reception up here," the man shakes his head. "Closest place with a working phone'll be the farm three miles west of here, but in this storm..." he tails off, shaking his head. There's a pause and then he volunteers, "Name's Fred, Fred Wilkins."

"I'm Harry," Harry replies, "Harry Stevens, and this is my wife, Ruth." She stiffens in surprise, but then relaxes once more as she realises that, under the circumstances, it's best for them to pose as a married couple and using their real first names will make it much easier to remember who they're meant to be. With them suffering from hypothermia and exhaustion, this is no time to be constructing elaborate legends.

Fred nods, saying, "You'd best get out of your wet clothes. Come on in."

Harry steps forward to follow their host into the kitchen, and she stays close behind him, keeping his body between her and Fred. They stop by the kitchen table and Fred steps over to a cupboard and gets out three glasses and a bottle of brandy from which he pours them all a stiff measure. The liquid burns her throat as it slides down, but it serves it's purpose very well and she can soon feel its warmth seep into her insides. "God, that feels good," Ruth murmurs softly and takes another swig, draining the glass.

She sees Harry smile and Fred chuckles as he says, "I'll start a fire, make some tea, and warm some soup. I have a few cans somewhere. There's a bathtub upstairs and there should be enough water for one bath, but no more with the power out. It won't be hot mind, but I dare say it'll be warm enough for your purposes. I'll dig out a few hot-water bottles too and bring them up to you along with the tea and soup. You can have my bed tonight. Best thing you can do is get in there as fast as you can to warm up."

"Oh no," Ruth objects, "we couldn't possibly."

"It's a double," he states. "The only other bedroom has a single bed. It's no trouble. I often sleep in there anyway."

Ruth is speechless, but Harry replies, "Thank you. We're very grateful for your help."

"It's no bother," he shrugs. "It's Bella you should thank really. If she hadn't darted out into the storm, I'd never have ventured out. Eh, Bella?" He pats the Border Collie who enjoys the attention and barks in approval. "You're a good girl." Then he turns to them again and says, "Follow me."

They both follow him slowly up the stairs, and once on the landing, he pauses and says briskly, "The bathroom's straight ahead. This here'll be your room for tonight." He opens the door on the right, letting it swing open so they can get a glimpse of the cosy, surprisingly tidy, room, equipped with a queen size bed, a large wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a fireplace in the corner. "Take what you need in the way of clothes from in there. If you can't find anything that fits, Ruth, try the other room. Some of my daughter's things might be a better fit. I'll be back in a jiffy with the hot-water bottles, the tea, and the soup. All right?"

"Thank you, Fred," Harry replies.

The other man nods and disappears downstairs again. Once alone, she looks at Harry, hoping he will take charge as she knows that the situation is about to get rather awkward. "All right?" he asks as he turns to face her. She nods watching his face that's a little worse for wear, his cheek bone bruised, his lips chapped and blue from the cold, and waiting for him to continue as she wonders if he's feeling as nervous and uncomfortable at the prospect of them sharing a bath and bed as she is. A little part of her is almost grateful for the opportunity she's been given to be so intimate with him, the man she's been secretly in love with for months now, but she can't help worrying that he doesn't feel the same way and that this'll damage their working relationship irrevocably. "Ruth," he murmurs, breaking into her thoughts, "we really must get out of these clothes. You go ahead and get into that bath."

"What about you?" she asks uncertainly.

"I'll be fine," he smiles. "Go on. You need to get warm."

He doesn't intend to join her in the bath, she realises and suddenly feels angry, not because she sees it as a rejection, but because, in trying to be a gentleman, he's being very stupid. So she shakes her head at him and says firmly, "We'll share it." She watches as his face registers surprise at the suggestion or her tone of voice, she's not sure which, before she adds, "We're both adults, Harry, and this is a life or death situation. I can't let you freeze out here. You need the bath as much as I do. So let's go." And with that, she determinedly leads the way to the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

When he returns with the towels, she's already immersed in the hot water and is covered by a thick layer of bubbles, shielding her from his gaze though she's kept her knickers on, just in case, seeing as they were soaking anyway. Her breasts are bare though as her bra is ruined, so she'd been very relieved to discover the bubble-bath when she'd began filling the tub. He _is_ her boss, after all and they're on operation together, so she doesn't want to be giving Harry the wrong signals because, apart from anything else, she wants him to think her competent and capable in the field too, not just behind a desk.

Her eyes are closed, but they open immediately and she gives him a warm smile, despite the tension and apprehension she's feeling, as she moves a little to the side to make room for him in the tub. "It feels like a pool," she murmurs. "I've never seen such a big tub before."

"I have one at home," he replies, clearly without thinking, and she smiles as she sees his cheeks and ears turn a little red when he realises what he's said.

"Oh really?" she asks with interest, her eyebrows shooting up as her eyes light up with mischief.

"Yes." He clears his throat and turns to hang the towels on the rack and she suspects he's using it as an excuse to hide his embarrassment. He doesn't appear to realise that far from hiding, his move is much more revealing than he intends. His wet boxer briefs are clinging to his skin, leaving very little to the imagination and she has to swallow to moisten her throat that has suddenly gone dry. Quickly she lifts her gaze to his face to see if he's noticed, but luckily he's looking elsewhere. Some of her embarrassment must show on her face, however, because, when he turns to look at her again, he smiles and murmurs, "Penny for them."

She blushes more deeply and closes her eyes as she turns her head to look up towards the ceiling, submerging her head into the water until only her face remains above the surface. "Oh, Harry," she says after a beat, "my thoughts are worth so much more than just a penny," and even though her head is submerged in the bath, she can hear him laugh at her retort.

A few moments pass during which she expects him to enter the bathtub, but when he doesn't, curiosity gets the better of her and she opens her eyes to peer round at him. He's standing with his back towards her and she hears the tell-tale trickle of urine against the porcelain as she carefully lifts her head out of the water, trying not to make a sound. Feeling mortified at having observed him in such a private moment, she slowly lies back down, closing her eyes in embarrassment and hoping that he hasn't realised she was watching though she can't help dwelling on the brief glimpse she's just had of his bare back and his buttocks, which look deliciously firm, outlined by his wet underwear.

She hears the loo flush and feels the water ripple as he gets into the tub beside her. The temptation to open her eyes is great, but the thought of him seeing her ogling his body and the embarrassment this would cause them both is enough to make her keep them resolutely closed. She hears him groan in pleasure and she smiles before the water his body has displaced threatens to drown her and she has to abruptly lift her head. She opens her eyes and finds him lying in the tub beside her, his shoulders resting against the opposite side of the bathtub, his eyes closed and a smile of contentment on his lips.

The water isn't very hot, which is probably a good thing, but she remembers how good it felt when she'd first got in, as hot as the hottest bath she'd ever had before. Her toes and fingers in particular had begun to tingle delightfully and it had seemed like the first time in ages that she'd been able to feel anything with them at all.

She watches him as he leans back in the tub, his face relaxing into a soft smile as the warmth seeps through his skin. The tub really is huge and there is plenty of room for them to lie side by side in it without touching, something she rather regrets right now. She's already beginning to feel cold again, her body having absorbed the available heat from the rapidly cooling water. As she watches him, she wonders what he would have said has she shared her thoughts earlier, had she pointed out that, when he'd turned to hang up the towels, his wet underwear had outlined his... package just perfectly and she'd been amazed by the size of him. She'd just been wondering how much bigger he gets when erect, when he'd asked what she'd been thinking.

His eyes open, and to cover her embarrassment at being caught thinking of him like that again, she quickly asks, "But don't you worry about the environmental impact of using so much water every time you have a bath, Harry?"

He looks puzzled for a moment, but then he smiles and replies mischievously, "You don't seem to be too worried about the environment right now, Ruth."

"Yes, well, I'd rather not die today if I can help it. Anyway, I'm sure that we're not really using that much more water than a single tub with both of us in here," she replies thoughtfully, and then realising what she's said, she looks quickly away, trying to push aside the images that invade her mind of Harry with another woman in his bathtub at home.

There's a moment of silence before he admits quietly, "The truth is that I rarely get a chance to use it, but when I do, I figure that, since I don't use it above a dozen times a year, the environment will be just fine despite my wasteful indulgence."

She clears her throat in relief and concedes, "You're probably right. In fact, I'm sure I use more water than you because, despite my smaller tub, I have a bath at least once a week. I just love water. I used to swim regularly at school and university. In fact I was on the school swimming team."

"Really?" he asks with interest. "I didn't think you liked sport."

"There's sport and then there's sport, Harry," she smiles, "and swimming is definitely my kind of sport. I held the school record for the 200m breaststroke for almost a year when I was twelve."

"Impressive," he replies. "No wonder you did so well yesterday."

She grimaces and murmurs, "It's just as well that we didn't have to run or ski really."

He chuckles softly at the joke, but then his face turns serious again and he looks away.

"What?" she asks, puzzled by his sudden change in mood.

"Nothing," he shakes his head, but when she continues to just look at him, waiting for an answer, he sighs and murmurs, "It was so close, Ruth. I almost failed to protect you, and I-"

"Don't," she objects quickly, not really wanting to think or talk about it. "Let's not dwell on it. We're both here now. We're alive and relatively unscathed. It could have been so much worse." He nods, but he still looks grim, so she adds, "You did your best, Harry. Your plan was a good one. We couldn't have known he'd tie you to the chair as well." She looks away in embarrassment as she remembers all that he saw, but she determinedly ploughs on with what she wants to say, wanting to reassure him. "And anyway, perhaps it worked out better that way. You wouldn't have waited until the last moment otherwise, and he couldn't fight you with his..." she swallows, "trousers round his ankles. He would have made more noise and attracted the others if you'd been able to attack him sooner." He sighs then and turns to smile at her, and as she looks at him again, she's pleased that her words have helped reassure him; she's so grateful to him for rescuing her. He holds her gaze for long moments, his eyes warm and full of admiration and pride, making her blush and her heart race.

She shivers slightly and watches his smile turn into a frown. She's cold now, but she doesn't really want to leave the bathtub, not just for fear of him seeing her practically naked - which he's already done, she remembers with a blush – but also because she loves the intimacy of sharing a bath with him and she knows that she's unlikely to ever get such an opportunity again. Not unless something changes drastically between them, and though she suspects that he _does_ desire her in that way, she doesn't imagine that either of them will be brave enough to risk starting something when the odds of it working out long term are so low; they value each other and their jobs too much for that. "This is meant to be warming you up, Ruth," she hears him say a little sternly. "If you're cold, you need to get out."

"I know," she nods, pushing herself a little further up so her shoulders are now out of the water. But as he turns his head away from her so she can get out, she suddenly remembers that he'd banged his head pretty badly on the rocks and no one has looked at the wound yet. "Turn around, Harry," she says. "I want to look at the cut on the back of your head."

"It's fine, Ruth," he objects.

"Don't be daft," she admonishes. "Someone needs to look at it, and since you can't do it yourself, you'll either have to let me do it, or go and explain to Fred why you won't let your _wife_ take care of you."

He sighs and sits up before slowly turning his back towards her, his legs brushing deliciously against hers in the process. "Sorry," he murmurs, not really sounding sorry at all.

In response, she bends one knee up, and bringing her foot round his back, she extends her leg out on the other side as she sits up behind him, the inside of her thighs lightly brushing against either side of his bottom. He's still wearing his underwear, she discovers with a little disappointment as she listens to his breathing change slightly and is surprised at herself when she's tempted to press herself against him further to see what kind of a response she might elicit. Then she really shocks herself by thinking that, if she's lucky, she might even get to find out how big he really _does_ get!

She swallows as she determinedly pushes aside those thoughts and says, "You haven't even rinsed your hair yet, Harry. I can't see anything until you do that."

She hears him clear his throat, and when he speaks, his voice sounds rather deeper than usual, making her heart beat even faster. "I didn't think you'd appreciate having the bath water turn pink, Ruth, nor did I think it wise to expose you to my blood."

"Oh!" she says in surprise as the implications of that statement sink in.

But then he seems to realise how his words might be interpreted and he hastily adds, "Not that there's any cause for alarm, Ruth. I've had all the tests done and they're all clear. I just thought-"

"Thank you, Harry," she interrupts his rambling, feeling touched and wanting to put him at ease. "It was very thoughtful of you. How about I get out so you can rinse properly and then I have a look?"

"Sounds good," he nods and turns his head towards the wall as she puts one hand on his shoulder, the other on the rim of the tub for balance and raises herself to her feet. His skin is soft and warm and she hates to let go of him, but eventually she cannot reasonably delay any longer so she gets out, turning to grab hold of a towel and dry herself quickly, feeling suddenly really cold. She hears him splashing in the bathtub, but she resolutely keeps her back towards him as she dries herself, surreptitiously pulling off her wet knickers, and then wraps the towel round her body and another round her hair.

When she turns round, he's just opening his eyes and sitting up. She smiles and kneels down to examine his head as he turns his back towards her. The cut looks quite nasty and she suspects that it went through to the bone, but as Harry isn't acting loopy and is behaving quite normally, his scull is probably intact and there's nothing to worry about. A little blood is seeping from the wound again.

"Well, Doctor," he murmurs, "will I live?"

"I'm afraid so," she smiles. "It looks quite deep, Harry. I think it needs stitches."

"Under the circumstances, I think I'll pass," he replies. "Besides, if it leaves a scar, it's hardly going to be my first."

"True," she concedes with a smile as he turns in the tub to face her again, her eyes unconsciously tracing over the visible scars on his shoulders and chest. "You do have quite a collection. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you have a rather cavalier attitude when it comes to the treatment of wounds."

He chuckles softly at her teasing remark and replies, "At least this one won't be visible for a good few years yet. Not until I lose _all_ my hair at any rate."

She laughs, delighting in their playful teasing. Their gazes hold for several moments, their eyes sparkling in joy until the intensity becomes too much for her and she drops her gaze to the bath tub. She frowns when she sees the drops of blood on the porcelain and reaches forward to wipe it away with her hand. "You're bleeding again. I'll go ask Fred for some bandages." Then she rinses her hand in the bath and gets up to leave.


	7. Chapter 7

When she returns and knocks, he calls for her to enter, but the moment she opens the door, she freezes in the doorway at the sight that greets her. Harry's already out of the bath, a towel wrapped around his waist as he stands at the sink shaving. She feels like she's intruding on something very intimate and personal, and she almost makes up her mind to back out of the room. But her curiosity keeps her there for a moment too long, and suddenly, she finds the sight of Harry's right bicep bunching and relaxing as he slides the cheep razor across his foam covered face highly erotic and now she _can't_ move.

"Shut the door, Ruth. It's freezing," she hears him say and almost jumps at the rough sound of his voice, and as she raises her eyes to meet his in the mirror, she has a feeling that he knows exactly what's been running though her head. Swiftly, she looks away and turns to shut the door, inwardly cursing her lack of self-control.

"Sorry," she says, doing her best to keep her voice level. "I have the bandages here when you're ready." She glances at him again, seeing him step a little to the side to give her room next to the sink to put down the supplies she's carrying. So she moves forward and busies herself preparing everything, keeping her gaze resolutely on what she's doing and away from him. She doesn't dare try to watch him again, but she can't help wondering why he's bothering to shave at this hour and in the present circumstances.

"It relaxes me," he murmurs softly, causing her eyes to snap up and meet his in the mirror in shock. How on earth had he known what she'd been thinking, she wonders in amazement as he adds, "I usually prefer a glass of whisky in the evening, but as none is available tonight, I thought this might help."

She smiles and looks down, nodding as she tucks away that information in her heart, ridiculously pleased that he's shared something so personal with her. "I prefer a glass of wine," she confesses, glancing up at him in the mirror for a moment to find him smiling.

He nods and turns his eyes back on his reflection and it doesn't take him long to finish up. Soon she's carefully cleaning his wound, hating the pain she's causing him but knowing it has to be done. His knuckles have turned white as he grips the sink hard, leaning over it so she can reach his injury and see what she's doing under the light coming from above the sink. He isn't making a sound, though there's the occasional hitch in his breathing, and she wonders why men have this need to hide their pain and always appear strong. Soon she's done the best job she can, so she places a bandage over his wound before wrapping some gauze around his head to hold it in place.

Once she's finished, she steps back and smiles at his grumpy expression as he eyes himself in the mirror. "Don't you think you overdid it a little, Ruth?" he pouts.

"We don't want it to move in your sleep," she replies quietly, turning away to hide her smile. "Besides," she adds, "it's not bad. It makes you look like a wounded hero in one of those WWII films."

"As long as I don't look like that bloke in the English Patient," he grumbles.

"The English Patient?" she asks in surprise and her eyes light up with mischief. "Harry, how _long_ has it actually been since you went to see a film?" He shrugs and clears his throat in embarrassment, his ears turning red again before she relents and adds, "You could do worse that look like Ralph Fiennes, Harry. He's rather good looking. Why don't you like him?"

"I found his character rather irritating," he shrugs, "not to mention the fact that he betrays everything and everyone for a woman."

"For love, Harry," she amends absently as she begins to collect the things she's used.

"That's not love, Ruth," he replies seriously and she can't help lifting her eyes to his. "True love is selfless and honourable. One must strive to never go against what is right, _especially_ for love. If you do that, you lose everything because, if she truly loves you, she'll lose all respect for you because you have betrayed your principles; you have betrayed yourself."

She stares at him for a moment in silence, her heart hammering in her chest as she tries to recover, but before she can formulate any kind of a response, he's already left the bathroom, murmuring something about getting dressed.

* * *

The room is warm, despite the storm still raging outside, the wind howling and making the trees creak, the rain lashing at the windows, and the thunder shaking the house. The fire crackling in the grate is wonderfully warm and cheerful, and as she slips into bed, she sighs in relief and contentment. The hot-water bottle down by her feet feels wonderful and the think layer of blankets soon begins to warm her up again, especially once Harry gets in bed next to her. She feels the bed dip as he slides in beside her, and without pausing to think about it lest she lose her nerve, she turns, sidles up to him and wraps her arm around his chest, pressing against his side.

She feels him freeze as she leans into him and immediately regrets her actions, but as she's about to pull away again, a particularly loud clap of thunder has her tightening her arm around him and burying her face against his shoulder in momentary alarm. He chuckles softly and turns towards her even as she tries to roll away in embarrassment at her apparent fear, not wanting him to think less of her, particularly as she's never been scared of thunderstorms – the sound just startled her. But as he pulls her against his chest and rubs his hand up and down her back to warm her, the sensation is so wonderful that she stops moving, swallowing her embarrassment and letting herself relax against him instead, not hesitating to seize the moment even for a second, knowing that she's unlikely to ever get another opportunity like this to lie in Harry's strong arms.

"Better?" he asks after a bit as a sign of deep contentment escapes her.

"Much," she mumbles against his chest. "You're so warm, Harry."

"As are you," he replies, his arm ceasing its motion and his hand coming to rest against her back, between her shoulder blades.

They lie still for some time, adjusting to the feel of each other, and though initially she's hyper-aware of his proximity and she feels the warm tingling of desire deep in her belly, soon the fatigue from their ordeal kicks in and she begins to relax. She presses herself further against him, cuddling up to him even more as her physical exhaustion catches up with her, her brain becoming sluggish and unable to remember and hold onto all the reasons why she should keep her distance from Harry... boss spook... _her_ boss... wonderful man... _her_ wonderful man... her Harry...

"G'night, Harry," she mumbles.

"Goodnight, Ruth," he replies in a husky voice, and as she begins to drift off to sleep, her final thought is a fervent wish that she might one day be allowed the privilege of always sharing his bed like this – not for the sex, which she's sure would be quite wonderful, but for the sheer pleasure of holding him, feeling his warm body against hers, inhaling his wonderful Harry smell, and feeling utterly safe and secure. Before she can fall into a deep sleep, however, she feels him move away from her a little and murmurs a sleepy apology as she begins to pull away, sure that she's making him uncomfortable by being so close but, luckily, feeling too tired and sleepy to think or feel any kind of unease or embarrassment. "No," he objects quickly. "Don't go. I just need to... turn around. My... er... arm's going to sleep."

"Okay," she mumbles, opening her eyes for a moment and watching him turn his back towards her and the fireplace before she presses herself against his back and wraps her arm round his chest, finding enough mental and physical energy to ask him, "Is this okay? I'm still cold."

"It's very nice," he murmurs as he places his hand over hers, making her smile as she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep right away.


	8. Chapter 8

When she wakes up, she finds herself utterly surrounded by him. His arms are wrapped around her, anchoring her against his body, her head resting against his chest where she can hear his heart beating steadily. Her legs are tangled with his under the covers and she can feel his belly press against hers with every breath he takes. His breathing is deep and even and she comes to the conclusion that he must still be sleeping. She almost sighs in relief at this realisation, letting go of the tension in her body and relaxing against him. She opens her eyes to discover that the room is dark, save for the warm glow coming from the ambers of the fire. It's night time then, she thinks before turning her attention back to Harry and the feel of his body against hers. It's quite the most wonderful feeling she's ever experienced she decides, closing her eyes again in bliss. She knows she should move away from him before he wakes up to find them in this utterly unprofessional embrace, but she can't quite bring herself to end it yet; she's enjoying it far too much. Just a few more minutes, she thinks dreamily.

When next she wakes up, she can feel that something's different. Harry's definitely awake; he's still breathing deeply, but there's a tension in him that wasn't there before. Endeavouring to keep her breathing deep and even too, she contemplates what she should do. He certainly doesn't seem in any hurry to extract himself from her embrace. If anything, he seems keen to prolong it as much as possible, otherwise he would have released her already. It would be easy enough to do by pretending to roll over in his sleep. But what does it mean, she wonders. Is it just Harry trying to be a gentleman and not disturb her sleep? Is it the irresistible pull of another warm body on a man who spends so many nights alone? Is it about desire and sex, or just comfort and warmth? Would he be doing the same thing if he'd been sharing this bed with Zoe, Sam or Fiona? Or is it because it's her, Ruth? She's not sure, and that worries her. Yet what worries her even more is that this last realisation isn't enough to make her want to extract herself from his embrace. She'd choose to go on pretending she's asleep and stay here with Harry forever if it were physically possible. He feels so good, so warm, cuddly and strong. Soon she finds that her insides have begun to burn with a desire so strong that her heart is beating wildly and she's hard pressed to keep her breathing even. 'Time to wake up and go take a cold shower, Ruth,' she tells herself sternly.

She intends to roll away from him, stretch and pretend to be waking up, but her somewhat addled mind gets the order all mixed up and she finds herself arching her back to stretch before she's moved away... And _that_ is their undoing. She hears him gasp as her pelvis presses against him, trapping his erection, that he's managed to successfully hide so well, between their bodies and causing her eyes to fly open and meet his as she moves her shoulders and head back. His gaze is smouldering hot, his hazel eyes liquid pools of desire and need, mirroring her own, and before she's aware of any conscious decision on her part to move, they're entangled in the most passionate, satisfying, intimate, soul-wrenching kiss she's ever known. His hands are everywhere and she can feel her body burn as they slide over her skin, pushing under her clothes to reach her as her hands do the same, needing to feel him and pull him closer, as close as they can possibly be.

Her first orgasm overtakes her the moment his fingers slip into her pyjamas and find her clit, vibrating against it expertly and sending her into a spiral of heart-stopping bliss. It's only after she comes back to herself that she realises that the deep moans of pleasure she heard came from her own throat. She opens her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes alight with joy, lust and something else, something elusive. "Harry," she whispers, smiling up at him adoringly even as she tries to get a grip on her emotions and rebuild the walls around her heart that he's blown apart with so much ease. But the attempt is futile and she knows that she's left herself wide open and fears that he can read her like an open book.

He smiles softly at her, lifting his hand to cup her face as he sighs, "Oh, Ruth," and leans down to kiss her, a gentle, sweet, exquisitely tender kiss that brings tears to her eyes. She can't stand this, she's not ready for it, this tenderness that gives the illusion of love and all she's ever craved with him. So she pulls him closer, pushing down on the waistband of his borrowed pyjamas as she deepens the kiss, seeking to reignite the lust between them.

Soon they've managed to remove all their clothes, their lips and hands sucking and groping at each other in desperate need. She grasps his cock in her fist, marvelling at how thick and rigid he is as she hears his groan of approval and feels his fingers slip inside her. She gasps in pleasure, gripping him more tightly and sliding her hand along him as she bucks beneath him, and whimpering when he pulls his fingers away again, wrapping them around her wrist and tugging her hand away from him. Next moment he's hovering over her, his pelvis pushing her legs further apart as he slips between them and gently pushes into her. She arches her back to meet him, moaning again as he stretches her deliciously.

"Ruth," he murmurs her name as he fills her, "look at me, Ruth." So she complies, opening her eyes to stare into his that are brimming with so many different emotions that she can't distinguish one from the other. She's never seen his eyes this open before, reflecting his thoughts and feelings so clearly, and can't help but drink him in, storing away this image in her heart for safe keeping.

"Harry," she murmurs his name and lifts one hand to cup his cheek, moved beyond words by the trust he's showing her in this moment. He smiles softly at her and opens his mouth to say something, but the emotions are too much for her to deal with again, so she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him down for a deep kiss that, she hopes, says it all.

They don't last long, coming within seconds of each other as they pant and gasp in unison, their heads side by side, listening to each other's groans of pleasure as they shudder in ecstasy. He pulls her close, lifting his head to press his lips against hers softly before he rolls onto his side and rests his head on his pillow, his eyes closing with a sigh of heartfelt contentment. She smiles as she watches him for a few moments, letting her eyes roam over his face from his full lips up to his still bandaged head, unable to quite believe what's just happened and yet knowing that she wouldn't trade this moment, this feeling inside her for anything in the world, no matter what happens later, or tomorrow, or once they get back to work.

The thought of work and everything that's happened recently serves to bring her back down to reality with an unpleasant bump and it is with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she turns her head to look up at the ceiling. Her legs are still tangled with his under the covers, her left shoulder and arm resting against his chest, and they bring her comfort as she worries about it all. Logically, she knows that, despite what's happened between them and how much it felt like they were making love rather than the adrenaline fuelled fuck she would have foreseen under the circumstances, she can't expect it to lead to anything more. Their lives are such and their work is such that a relationship between them has always seemed like a bad idea to her and something unlikely to last, even though in her private fantasies she's often indulged in imagining what sharing her life with Harry would look like and how wonderful it would be. But now, after experiencing the incredible perfection of the way their bodies fit together and the close connection she felt to him just now, she finds herself wondering if it would be such a bad thing to try to build a future for them together.

She bites her bottom lip as she realises that she's running away with herself, something she's promised herself never to do again. She knows from bitter experience that what might feel like an intimate connection to her doesn't necessarily feel that way to a man, especially, she reminds herself sternly, to a man who lies and cheats for a living like Harry. She knows she has a tendency to always think of him as decent and honourable, to romanticise him to some extent, even though a lot of his actions suggest that he's anything but. And if she's brutally honest with herself, she can't put it past him to seduce her, to play her and use her like an asset. Perhaps he's already regretting what's happened between them and will try to blame it on the adrenaline and the heat of the moment come morning.

"A pound for them," he murmurs softly, startling her a little as she hadn't realised he'd woken, so caught up was she in her worries.

She smiles as she registers his words despite the turmoil in her heart and turns her head to look at him. "A whole pound! No one's ever offered me that much money for my thoughts before, Harry."

"Nonsense, Ruth," he objects. "You get paid much more than a pound for your thoughts at work."

"I don't know, Harry," she replies. "Do you even know how much I get paid?"

"Nowhere near enough," he smiles.

"Sounds about right," she sighs and turns her head away from him to watch the fire's ambers that cast a warm glow around the room which is still shrouded in darkness though she detects a hint of daylight beginning to filter through the window now. It'll be dawn soon.

There's silence for a few moments before he says, "You looked troubled just now. What's worrying you, Ruth? Is it this - what's happened between us?"

"Yes," she admits quietly, bracing herself for his reaction, the excuses she half-expects to hear, determining to be strong, a good spook, and take it all in stride with good grace.

"Would you care to elaborate? I thought it was... quite wonderful and it's something I would very much like to repeat... frequently," he murmurs when she shows no indication of continuing.

She turns to look at him at that, and seeing the sincerity in his gaze, she smiles, reaching her hand up to cup his cheek as she attempts to push down the relief and the hope that floods her heart, fearing to trust in it yet. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that I regret it. I've wanted this... _you_ for ages, Harry, and to tell the truth, it was... bloody fantastic." He grins with delight at her words, and she can practically see his heart swelling with pride and pleasure. Then she plucks up her courage and adds, "I was just expecting you to..." but it fails her half way through the sentence and she falls silent.

"To what?" he asks, scanning her face with his warm, intelligent eyes. "To make up some excuse about why this happened and why it can never happen again?" She nods, feeling tears spring to her eyes as he sighs and lifts himself onto his right elbow so he can see her more clearly. "Ruth," he begins but then pauses, to gather his thoughts. "I'm not a complete... cad. At least, I'm not any more. I won't insult your intelligence by claiming that I haven't seduced and used women in the past, but... I haven't been that man in over a decade now, and I'd like to think that I've learned something in my fifty odd years of life and that I've changed... for the better." He smiles down at her and adds, "What's happened here... is something I have thought about and longed for... oh, for years, Ruth... possibly my entire life." She frowns in puzzlement at his words, but he ploughs on, "And though I've tried to fight against it, now that I've had a taste of it... us... together... I don't want to let it go. I don't want this to be a... one off, Ruth. I'd like to take you out, to date you. I'd like a relationship with you if... if that's what you want too."

She nods, unable to speak from emotion and turns her face towards his chest, burying it against him. She feels him lie down beside her and pull her close, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her hair as she fights to contain her emotions that want to spill out as tears of relief and happiness.


	9. Chapter 9

When she wakes, she's alone in bed, and for one terrible moment, she thinks it was all a dream. But then, as she rolls towards his side of the bed they've shared, pressing her face into his pillow and inhaling deeply, trying to catch a whiff of his scent, she smiles, her motion bringing to her awareness the delicious feeling of complete muscle and joint looseness and relaxation that only sex can bring, and she knows it was no dream. She feels positively languid this morning and is tempted to just close her eyes and go back to sleep, and it's only the strange sounds coming from outside that slowly penetrate her lethargic brain and prod it into wakefulness.

She lifts her head listening. The sound is getting louder and before long she's identified it as the noise from the blades of a helicopter. 'Bollocks,' she thinks as she sits up, quickly scanning the room for something to wear; the team has found them. Her eyes alight on a pile of clothes on the night-stand, and she realises that they're actually _her_ clothes, dry and neatly folded. She scrambles out of bed then and begins to slip them on, but once she has her knickers, socks and jeans on, she realises that the bra is not her own and neither is the shirt or the jumper. Frowning in surprise, it takes her a moment to remember that hers had been ruined. Any further thoughts on the subject, however, are cut short when she hears voices on the stairs. Quickly, she slips the garments on, surprised that they're actually not a bad fit, runs her fingers through her hair to get rid of the worst tangles, and turns to scan the room for any signs of a male occupant or any indication of what she and Harry had been up to last night. Finding none, she turns to the make the bed just as someone knocks on the door.

"Ruth?" Adam's voice calls. "Are you decent?"

"Come in," she replies, having hastily straightened the covers, and turns to face him.

He enters the room smiling, and she sees him quickly scan his surroundings before his eyes come back to settle on her and he takes a few steps forward. "Oh Adam," she smiles, giving him a hug, "I'm so glad you're all right. We didn't know if you'd survived and I was so worried."

"I'm fine," he grins at her as he pulls back. "Zaf fished me out of the sea before I drowned. I'm glad you're all right too, Ruth. We were really worried about you. Harry said they didn't hurt you?"

"No," she shakes her head. "He... we got out in time. Is he all right? He almost drowned last night."

"And almost cracked his head wide open by the looks of it," he grins. "But you know Harry. I had to threaten him with TRING before he'd let the paramedics look at him."

"_You _threatened _him_ with TRING?" she laughs. "Oh, Adam, I'm sorry I missed _that_. He can't have taken it well."

"Actually, he just glared at me," he shrugs. "Clearly the head injury or the near drowning must have addled his brain. Anyway, ready to go?"

"Yes," she agrees, thinking that it's more likely that it's the sex that's put Harry in a good enough mood to forgive Adam taking such liberties. She follows him out of the room, pausing on the threshold to take one last look at the place where she and Harry had finally found their way to each other, a small smile spreading across her lips before she turns away, silently sending up a prayer that what began between them here will survive, grow and last forever.

They descend the stairs into the kitchen where everyone seems to be gathered. Harry's sitting at the table, his head bent forward as two paramedics examine his wound. Zaf's over in the corner of the room with his phone pressed to his ear, listening, and the owner of the house, Fred, is standing with his back against the wall, taking everything in.

As she follows Adam into the room, Zaf looks up and smiles at her before murmuring something into the phone and motioning for Adam to come over. Harry lifts his head and catches her eye briefly, giving her a warm look that has her heart skipping several beats, but earns him a small reprimand of, "Please stay still, Mr. Stevens," from one of the paramedics. He scowls as he lowers his head once more and she can't help smiling.

"Glad you're all right, Ruth," Zaf says quietly near her ear then, almost making her jump. When had he got so good at sneaking up on people? "We were really worried about you."

"So was I," she smiles, "but all's well that ends well. Did you find them and stop them, Zaf?"

He nods and murmurs, "Just two hours ago after we got word from Harry." She opens her mouth to ask for more information, but he squeezes her arm gently and whispers with a meaningful glance at Fred, "Tell you more later."

Barely five minutes later, they're all ready to leave, Harry sporting a brand new bandage on his head as he shakes Fred's hand and thanks him for his help.

"Don't mention it," Fred smiles. "Most excitement I've had since my Ellie passed. Life's rather dull up here."

She watches Harry nod and smile before he turns to join Adam and Zaf outside, leaving her alone with Fred. She sees the three of them immediately strike up a conversation as they walk towards the chopper, Harry clearly listening to an update on everything he's missed.

He doesn't look nearly as frightening as he had last night, she thinks as she turns to Fred and smiles at him. In fact, he looks sad and lonely, and she suspects that his unkempt hair and facial hair are a result of not having anyone to look good for any more. A surge of sympathy and concern for him bubbles up inside her as she thanks him for his help, promising to return the clothes he's so kindly lent her.

"Don't worry about it, Lass," he smiles. "You keep 'em. My Kate won't be needing them any more." She frowns at that and he sighs and adds, "She was killed in action... in Iraq. Broke my Ellie's heart."

"Oh, Fred," she exclaims with feeling, reaching forward to touch his arm as she realises the enormity of what this man has lost. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"Thanks, Lass," he smiles, patting her hand as tears glisten in his eyes. "You take good care of yourself now, all right? Don't let your boss get you into any more trouble, you hear?"

"Boss?" she frowns. "Oh, you mean my husband."

"Husband my foot," he laughs, making her eyes widen in surprise. "Bet he'd like to be though," he smiles. "Bet you'd both like that." She blushes and looks away, feeling mortified that he'd heard them last night. "Nothing to be embarrassed about, Lass. Keep him in the bedroom is my advise. Safest place for the both of you," he grins, leaving her speechless.

Luckily, however, she hears Adam calling her then, so she swiftly makes her excuses and leaves, relieved beyond words to escape as she rushes to the door where Adam's just appeared. "We need to go," he says impatiently.

"D'you have a copy of the Official Secrets Act on you?" she asks.

"Yes," he frowns. "Why?"

"I think you need to ask Fred to sign it. He's smarter than he looks," she replies with a smile before she walks over to the chopper and gets in.

She looks out the window as they take off, soaring over the house and towards the coast, heading home. She sees the beach where Fred had found them, looking calm and beautiful in the early morning light after the storm, and she's struck by a sudden desire to visit this place again someday before her attention is claimed by Zaf who shouts over the noise, "So what's it like being married to Harry, Ruth?"

She turns to him, seeing his cheeky grin and the mischievous look in his eyes before glancing at the others, Harry's face calm and unreadable and Adam's mirroring Zaf's. "I don't know, Zaf," she shrugs. "It was only ten hours or so, and I slept through most of it. It was all right." Harry's eyes twinkle at her, so she swiftly looks away, determinedly pushing aside thoughts of what happened while they were awake last night and very early this morning.

"So... does Harry snore?" Adam asks with a grin and she knows that he's watching her reaction very carefully despite his teasing, apparently relaxed attitude; he's a spook after all.

"I wouldn't know," she replies serenely, not quite sure how much the two have ascertained about their sleeping arrangements last night and not wanting to risk appearing as if she's hiding something. "I sleep like a log. I've been known to sleep straight through fire alarms at Uni." Then she turns to look out the window again, but not before she sees the quick shrug Adam gives Zaf. Good, she thinks with relief, hopefully she's dispelled any suspicions they have about what happened between her and Harry.


	10. Chapter 10

It's late, past midnight, but she can't sleep. She's been tossing and turning since she got into bed, unable to settle down despite her initial relief in finding herself at home, among her things and with her cat. Every time she closes her eyes she's plagued by images and emotions from the last seventy-two hours, her capture, her time in the cabin with Adam, Harry, swimming to shore, the terror of the storm, of thinking Harry dead, of the sexual assault. It's only the thought of what came after, of Harry and what happened between them, that keeps the daemons at bay and stops her from losing control and breaking down completely, but with the feelings of pleasure, come the doubts that make sleep just as elusive.

And then, on top of everything else, returning to the grid had been hard – having to relive it all during her debriefing conducted by Adam and Fiona, and then write up her report which, to be fair, she'd insisted she do today though Adam had suggested she leave it until tomorrow. She'd wanted to get it all over with, put it behind her and move on, but by the time she'd finished, she'd been utterly exhausted.

Adam had insisted that she go home early for a change, making sure that she was off the Grid by the very reasonable hour of five o'clock. He'd even offered her a pool car, but she'd insisted that she'd rather make her own way home. She'd wanted to walk for a bit along the Thames to clear her head and she's still not sure if Adam would have let her go, but luckily he'd been called away to deal with a phone call from Juliet Shaw as Harry had been with the DG, and she'd escaped before he could return and insist she be driven home.

She'd enjoyed her walk by the river, managing to shake off the fear of being abducted again and ending up feeling renewed by it and the chance to get lost in the crowd, become an anonymous citizen going about her business like everyone else. It helped to know that all the people who'd done this were safely under lock and key in the bowels of Thames House being interrogated and unlikely to see the light of day any time soon. Besides she's always found it comforting to walk and take the bus to and from work. It relaxes her, makes her feel normal, like she fits in and belongs, as well as serving as a reminder of why she does her job as she watches the people around her, all of them so different from each other and yet so alike too. And anyway, as touched as she'd been by Adam's concern for her, she was getting a little tired of it and needed a break.

She sighs and gets out of bed, grabbing her phone and pulling on her dressing gown and slippers before she goes back downstairs and into the kitchen. Perhaps a cup of tea and some mindless TV will help her get her mind to slow down and stop analysing everything that's happened in the last seventy two hours, particularly the events of last night with Harry, she thinks as she fills up the kettle and flicks it on. She pulls a mug out of the cupboard, but no sooner has she put it on the counter, when her phone chirps. She glances at the kitchen clock as she slips her hand into her pocket to retrieve it. It's twenty two minutes past twelve, she sees, frowning as she opens the text she's just received.

'Hi. Are you awake?' she reads.

Harry. Dear, sweet, wonderful Harry, she thinks with a smile as all her worries melt away for a few moments and she basks in the knowledge that he's been thinking of her too. 'Yes. Are you still at work?' she replies quickly and hits send before she can change her mind, or spend too long analysing what she should write and how he will interpret it.

'No. Meeting's over. I'm in the car,' he answers a few seconds later.

'You shouldn't text and drive,' she admonishes lightly, practically grinning as she turns towards the kettle that's just finished boiling, enjoying this new and exciting medium of communication with him; it's so much easier to say _anything _to him like this – when she can't see his reaction, hear his voice or get flustered by his physical presence and what it does to her, and she finds herself feeling a new appreciation for texting in general. She's never quite seen the point of it before and the shorthand people use just drives her crazy, particularly when it creeps into other forms of written communication that don't have a character limit.

'I'm not driving,' is his quick reply, distracting her from her musings on the deterioration of English grammar and spelling use today.

'Right. I forgot. Geoff or Mike tonight?'

'Neither. I sent Mike home earlier.' She frowns, rereading the message and trying to make sense of it. A taxi, she wonders, another driver?... And then it comes to her as, with her heart trying to practically leap out of her chest in excitement and hope, she dashes to the living room and peers through the curtains, trying hard not to make them move. The car is in shadow, two houses down and on the opposite side of the street, but she's almost certain it's his even though she can't see anyone inside. She straightens up and hesitates for a moment before she quickly types, 'Come in, Harry. The kettle's just boiled,' and presses send before she can change her mind. Then with trembling hands, she slips the phone back into her pocket, moves back to the kitchen, pulls out another mug and makes them both a cup of tea, needing to keep her hands and mind busy to stop her doubts, apprehension and excitement from overwhelming her.

The sound of the doorbell, though half-expected, has her jumping out of her skin, a bit of milk spilling onto the counter-top at the sudden jolt, and she curses before mopping it swiftly up and hurrying to the door. It's only as she glances at her appearance in the mirror that she realises she's dressed for bed. "Bugger," she mutters under her breath, hesitating for a few seconds until she decides that there's not much she can do about it now. If she goes upstairs to change, he'll likely have gone home by the time she comes back down to answer the door, so taking a deep calming breath, she pulls open the door.

"Hi," she smiles as she steps back, pulling the door with her, her right hand nervously holding the top of her dressing gown closed.

"Hello," he murmurs, stepping through the doorway and into her hall, his eyes warm and gentle as they scan her face and quickly skim over the rest of her before returning to her eyes.

She closes and locks the door behind him, trying to swallow her nerves before turning to face him again, but failing quite spectacularly. How does he do this, she wonders as she gazes into his eyes that are alight with guarded hope and joy. How does he make her feel all these emotions simultaneously and render her suddenly inarticulate and unable to think straight? At work, well, there's work to distract her and give her something to focus on, but here or anywhere else when they're alone, she can't _breathe,_ let alone think or speak. And what's more, since yesterday, it seems to be a thousand times worse. She keeps feeling the echo of his hands and lips on her skin, the way his eyes had gazed at her and he'd moved inside her.

"How... how's your head?" she stutters, latching onto the first coherent through that flits through her mind as she scans his face and voicing it.

"Fine," he smiles. "And you? How are you feeling, Ruth?"

"Good," she nods, dropping her gaze for a moment before lifting it to his again. "Fine."

He takes a step towards her and she finds her gaze falling on his lips as his does the same and he whispers, "May I?"

"Yes!" she screams inside her head, "God, yes. I've been waiting for this all day," yet all she can manage is a small nod. It is enough, however, and soon his lips are softly pressing against hers, and before she knows what's happening, they're locked in a tight embrace, her hands gripping his jacket, his arm wrapped around her waist, his tongue delving deeply, deliciously into her mouth, sending shivers of pleasure up and down her spine.

"Come upstairs," she pants when they break apart for air before she even has time to think.

"Ruth," he murmurs softly as he pulls back a little to look at her, and she can hear the hesitation in his voice though his eyes are brimming with desire, and it makes her doubt herself, bringing her back to her senses like an ice cold shower. What if he's here to end it, to let her down gently?

She looks away in embarrassment and pain, murmuring, "Tea. I... I've made us some tea," and turning towards the kitchen, but she doesn't get very far before his hand grips her wrist, halting her motion.

"Ruth," he says urgently, moving to stand in front of her and blocking the doorway to the kitchen, "look at me, Ruth... Please." It takes her several seconds to regain her composure so she can lift her eyes to his, but she can't hold his gaze for long despite its warmth, dropping her eyes to gaze at his neck, noting for the first time that he's not wearing a suit and tie, but what looks like a dark blue polo shirt and a casual black jacket. "I _want_ to, Ruth," he says huskily. "If only you knew how _much_, how very tempting it is to just follow you upstairs and make love to you until-"

"Don't, Harry," she objects, feeling the pain grip her heart like a vice, believing that he's lying. How could he be telling the truth? She's never been a very good lover, men have told her so before, and she's certainly not the type of woman to turn a man's head, especially a man of the world like Harry. She knows she's not bad looking, though she's far from beautiful, and that she has a brilliant mind, but she doesn't do relationships very well as she's timid, unsure of herself, and very guarded; she doesn't open up easily or allow herself to lose control. "There's no need to expl-"

"There's _every_ need to explain!" he growls, releasing her wrist and taking her hand in his, pulling it towards him and holding it against his chest. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, Ruth. You're the most... wonderful, intriguing woman I know, and what I'm trying to say, rather inarticulately as it turns out, is that I want to spend time with you... to get to know you... away from work. And I _know_ that's never going to happen if we keep jumping into bed together at every opportunity before we've had a chance to talk... as incredibly tempting as that might be."

"Twice could hardly be classified as 'keep' jumping into bed together, Harry," she murmurs softly, glancing up and smiling shyly at him, a mixture of relief and hope blossoming in her chest.

"Perhaps not," he agrees with a shy smile of his own, "but I don't want you to get the wrong idea about my intentions here, Ruth. I was serious last night when I said that I want to build a relationship with you... and I'm not entirely sure you believed me."

"I..." she begins and tails off, not wishing to hurt his feelings by telling the truth and yet not wanting to lie either.

He leans forward, whispering close to her ear, "You can tell me the truth, Ruth. It's one of the things I really value and like about you. I can always rely on you not to mince words and give it to me straight. You have no qualms about telling me when you think I'm wrong... and I seem to recall you calling me a bastard on more than one occasion."

She blushes and lifts her eyes to look at him as he pulls back smiling. "Yes, well," she says, "you deserved it at the time."

"No doubt," he smirks. "And yet I'm still standing here, in your hall, at past midnight on a Friday night, wanting to spend time with you... So you see, you don't have to be scared of me, Ruth."

"I'm not scared of you," she replies indignantly, regaining some of her normal confidence as she realises that he's right; he's the same man he is at work – well, almost the same man – and seeing as he likes her enough to attempt to pursue a relationship with her, she should probably try to just be herself.

"Good," he smiles. "Then perhaps you can find us some glasses and we can share this," he adds, lifting his left hand and showing her a bottle of Argentinian Cabernet Sauvignon that, to her amazement, she's failed to notice he's been holding all this time, "while we have a nice conversation about why you think I'm a bastard."

"I don't..." she begins but tails off when she sees the twinkle in his eye. "Watch it, Harry, or I might chuck you out on your ear," she warns playfully, narrowing her eyes at him as he chuckles and sweeping past him into the kitchen to get the glasses.

"I'm not worried," he smiles as he puts down the bottle on the kitchen counter and pulls off his jacket, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair and stepping behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist causing her breathing to hitch and her heart rate to sky-rocket as he presses a soft kiss against her jaw line before murmuring in her ear, "I know I can change your mind, Miss Evershed. You appear to be quite susceptible to my charms."

"I think you'll find," she sighs as she leans into him, marvelling at the absolute... _perfection_ of the moment, the feel of him against her, the heat radiating from his body and the churning of desire deep in her belly, "that I have rather more will power than you anticipate, Harry."

"And I think _you'll _find, Ruth," he chuckles, pressing a kiss against her cheek and releasing her to open the wine, "that I'm rather more persistent than _you _anticipate, not to mention extremely talented in... certain areas."

He winks at her and she can't help giggling, feeling herself begin to relax in his presence like never before, and as she turns to retrieve the corkscrew, hands it to him and watches as he opens and pours the wine, she can't help marvelling at how different he is from the Harry she sees at work. She would never have believed that he could be so relaxed, warm, playful and happy... and just as sexy in a polo shirt and black jeans as he is in his Savile Row suits.

"Penny for them," he says, turning towards her and handing her a glass of wine.

"Back to mere pennies now, are we?" she smiles, taking a sip of her wine. "Mmm," she hums in appreciation. "This is delicious."

She watches him take a sip too and nod in agreement. "Quite quaffable," he agrees then, putting down his glass, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few coins from which he extracts a two pound piece and holds it out of her, saying, "Here. Two pounds for them. How's that?"

She laughs, and taking the coin from his palm and putting down her glass next to his, she pretends to examine it carefully. "Seems genuine," she volunteers, grinning up at him.

"As if I'd ever try to cheat you, Ruth," he says in mock outrage, but it doesn't make her smile. In fact, it serves to remind her of all the doubts she has about this, them together as she drops her gaze to the coin in her hands and begins toying with it nervously. "So... what were you thinking?" he prompts after a beat before taking another sip of his drink, seemingly unaware of her shift in mood, or perhaps just unsure of what to make of it or do about it.

She picks up her glass to take another generous sip of wine, shaking herself free of her depressing thoughts before she says quietly, "I was thinking that you're very different tonight... away from work, I mean."

"In what way?" he asks softly.

She doesn't answer straight away, needing more time to compose herself and her thoughts, so instead she leads him through to the living room, taking a seat on the sofa and watching him sit down beside her and place the wine bottle on the coffee table before turning to look at her in expectation. "You're softer somehow," she says eventually, "happier, more relaxed, funny."

"Well, I can hardly go around cracking jokes all the time at work, Ruth," he objects.

"Yes, I know," she smiles, remembering that awful joke he'd made on her first day, but deciding against teasing him about it; she can't quite find the courage for that yet, so she turns to her wine instead and is surprised to find that she's almost drunk a full glass already.

"No one shows all the sides of their character at work, Ruth," he shrugs eventually, lifting the bottle to top up their glasses, "especially in our business. You're quite different yourself tonight."

"Oh?" she queries, wondering how he sees her and fearing to hear it at the same time.

"You're a lot less confident," he smiles. "You're shy and more tense, and yet... playful, witty, and a bit of a tease." She looks down nervously, but he won't let her get away with it. He leans towards her and lifts her chin gently with his fingertip until she's looking into his eyes. Then he smiles and murmurs, "And I'm finding you quite as irresistible as the brilliant, confident, no-nonsense, brave Ruth I see daily at work."

He leans forwards then and presses his lips softly, chastely against hers before pulling back and taking another sip of his wine. He leans back against the cushions, watching her, and after the silence drags on a bit, she can't help trying to fill it. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing," she admits quietly, surprising herself by opening up so quickly on what is, to all intents and purposes, a first date.

"This sort of thing?" he asks, his voice soft and warm, inviting confidence.

He must be one hell of an interrogator, she thinks fleetingly before explaining, "Getting to know people... relationships... opening up... I know where I am with work and I know I'm good at it, but this..." She shrugs helplessly and takes another gulp of wine.

"Well," he frowns thoughtfully, "if it's any consolation, I'm quite rubbish at it myself."

"No, you're not," she objects. "You're quite... smooth."

"That's just training," he says, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Anyone can learn it and when you've practised it enough, you don't feel self-conscious any more and it's easy."

She swallows hard at his admission and takes another gulp of wine. "Well, that's reassuring then," she blurts out, feeling all tense and agitated again, and half-wishing they'd skipped this and just gone to bed instead because she can't quite bring herself to wish that none of this had happened. Besides, she's quite desperate to find out if their first time together was so... wonderful just because of the situation they'd found themselves in, the relief of having survived, or if it was a result of them really being such a perfect fit.

He sighs and lifts his hand to rub his face before admitting, "See? What did I tell you? Rubbish at it." He sits up then and leans towards her, reaching for her hand and murmuring huskily, "The thing is, Ruth, charm and seduction may be easy to come by and use as a means to an end, but they don't work long term. And that's the part I struggle with. Like you, I don't trust or open up readily, so it's been easier for me to just remain unattached. I haven't wanted to do this, spend time with someone like this, in years, Ruth. But in the last few months, I've found myself... _longing_ for it, for this... for _you_."

She exhales heavily, releasing the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, pulling her hand out of his, and exclaiming, "God, Harry! How am I supposed to trust you when it's so _easy_ for you to get a woman to want to just... drop her knickers and climb on top of you?"

He blinks in surprise before grinning at her in pleasure at her admission. "Give in to the temptation?" he suggests cheekily.

"I'm _serious_!" she exclaims, glaring at him even as she blushes, the wine making her bolder.

"I know you are. I'm sorry," he repents, gazing at her with soft, tender eyes. "But I'm afraid that I don't know the answer to that one... All I can say is that I _hope,_ with time, when I'm with you, and _only_ you, every chance I get for months on end, you'll believe me when I say that I... care for you, Ruth, and I want you, this, us... together. This is the best evening I've had in ages. You said that I'm relaxed and happy just now?" She nods. "Well, that hasn't happened since... well, last night actually, but before that it had been years. _You _do that for me, Ruth."

She sighs and leans into his side, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders as she rests her head on his shoulder, remembering when he'd mentioned the English Patient at Fred's place and how embarrassed he'd been when she'd teased him about how long it's been since he went to see a film, and realising that he's probably being honest right now; he probably hasn't dated much since he became Section Head. After all, she knows how hard he works, how many hours he puts in at the Grid in addition to all the meetings he attends. He's almost always still there when she leaves every night, typically late enough to catch the last bus, and she knows his driver picks him up at six each morning. Her heart expands at the realisation that, for whatever unfathomable reason, he really _does _think her special, and it makes her chest fill with a warm glow as she smiles softly, reaching for his hand that's resting on his thigh and taking it between her own.

"But aren't you nervous, Harry?" she asks softly after a bit as she strokes his large fingers absently.

"Of course," he nods. "Aren't you?"

"I'm terrified," she admits.

"Terrified?" he frowns. "Of me?"

"God, no!" she exclaims. "Of messing this up, of not being any good at it and making you hate me."

"I could never hate you, Ruth," he murmurs softly, running his thumb across the back of her hand and squeezing her shoulder.

"You might," she counters, "if I... hurt you, or shot you, or something."

"Even then," he chuckles, thankfully realising that she was joking at least about the shooting part. "Tom shot me, and I don't hate him."

"Well, that's a relief," she smiles, looking up at him. "Bet you'd like it if someone shot _him_ though, so he knows what it feels like."

"Oh, he knows," he sighs. "And I suspect he suffered quite a bit for what he did. Must have been hell to see all you've built crumble around you, to have no one to trust, no one to turn to, not even your partner or friends."

"Yes," she nods, thinking of Tom and all that had happened to him and the team, Zoe, Danny. "I'm glad you're here, Harry," she whispers eventually.

"I'm glad I'm here too," he smiles, pressing his lips against her forehead.

"No, I meant here in section D," she explains, adding hastily, "and here with me," when she sees his face fall. "What I mean to say is that I'm glad we... _I_ have you to rely on at work."

"Not just at work, Ruth," he murmurs. "Here too. Everywhere. If you ever need anything..."

"If you ever need a helping hand, I'll be there on the double just as fast as I can?" she quotes with a smile.

"Yes," he replies. "Where's that from?"

"Ain't no mountain high enough," she smiles. "You know, the song. I was watching a film earlier. I don't remember what it was called. Something with Julia Roberts."

"Any good?" he asks.

"Don't know," she sighs. "I was trying to get my mind off... everything. It didn't work, so I really couldn't tell you much about the film."

"Everything?" he murmurs softly.

"The boat, the storm," she admits, "and especially... you."

He twists his body round to face her, pulling his arm from around her shoulders and shifting forwards on the sofa. "Ruth," he asks softly, "do I make you... feel uncomfortable? Would you prefer me to go?"

"No," she shakes her head, "not if you want to stay."

He smiles tentatively, but then his face turns serious again as he murmurs, "Ruth, I need to know... Do you feel that you _have _to do this, be with me after... what happened between us _because_ I'm your boss? Is that why you invited me in tonight?"

"No, Harry," she replies quickly. "No, that's not why I invited you in tonight. I'd _never _sleep my way to the top, and if I thought for a moment that you were the type of man to use your junior staff in that way, I'd resign the next day and probably call you much worse than a bastard." She sees him smile at that before she adds, "I... I feel... I've wanted... _this_ for ages. The attraction between us is mutual, Harry, and if you... want... feel..." She sighs in frustration, unable to articulate what she wants to say without laying herself wide open to him, and she's not ready for that yet. "Can we just... talk about something else, Harry? I've had too much wine to think straight and it's late."

"Of course," he smiles. "You're right. It _is _late. I should go home and leave you to sleep. I didn't mean to disrupt your rest. I just... I needed to see you. I haven't had a chance all day."

"How did you know I'd be awake?" she asks, remembering that he'd been texting her from right outside her house at past midnight.

"I didn't," he admits. "I couldn't sleep, so I got in my car and drove here, only to find the house in darkness. I don't know what I was thinking... But just as I was about to drive off again, I saw your light come on upstairs, and then the one in the kitchen. I almost rung you, but then I thought that might be a tad presumptuous. So I sent a text instead... that way, you could ignore it if you wished."

"But I didn't," she smiles.

"No, you didn't," he agrees with a warm smile that has her heart racing again. "You worked out where I was, invited me in, and almost dragged me up to your bed to ravish me in the moonlight."

"Harry!" she exclaims, blushing furiously and lowering her gaze. "I didn't... I don't..." He laughs, a warm, rich sound that has her raising her eyes to watch him despite her embarrassment. "Insufferable man," she grumbles, making him laugh harder, so she glares at him, gets up and carries the glasses into the kitchen in mock offence.

He sobers instantly and follows her with the empty bottle of wine and an apologetic look on his face, stopping in the kitchen doorway. "Sorry," he murmurs as she turns and walks towards him, looking at her with puppy-dog eyes. "I couldn't resist."

"Try," she admonishes lightly, handing him his jacket that she's retrieved from the back of the kitchen chair and taking the empty bottle from his hands, determined not to let him see how scared she is of being alone again with her daemons tonight. If he wants to go home, she's not going to beg him to stay just to keep her company. Disadvantage number one of dating the boss, she realises – you can't let him think you weak.

"I will," he nods before he slips his jacket on and moves to the front door while she puts the bottle down and follows him. He turns to face her, murmuring, "Thanks for a lovely evening, Ruth. I'll see you tomorrow... actually, later today... at work."

"Yes," she smiles, stepping closer and turning her face up towards his in invitation. She wants to reassure him that she's not angry and desperately needs to feel his lips against hers again before he goes.

He smiles and steps close, lifting one hand to cup her cheek and wrapping his arm around her waist as he leans slowly towards her, watching her intently. She sighs and closes her eyes in anticipation and when she feels his lips press against hers, it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. They're so soft and gentle, so... loving. Could she be so lucky, she wonders, deepening their kiss and feeling him respond.

It is their most passionate kiss yet, the wine or perhaps their honest conversation making them bolder and deepening the connection between them, so that soon she's moaning in his arms. "Stay," she whispers against his lips before coming back for more, her hands gripping the back of his jacket and her body pressing against his. He groans and pulls her harder against him, his right hand slipping behind her neck to cradle her head as his left arm tightens around her middle and it's only the feel of her hand slipping down to stroke him through his jeans that has him pulling back.

"Ruth," he murmurs, resting his forehead against hers, "I should-"

"Stay," she interrupts, needing him desperately, not just to keep her daemons at bay or for the physical pleasure, but also because she needs to know for sure that what they have is special and worth her risking so much for it. "Let me take you upstairs and ravish you in the moonlight." He groans, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on her hips, where his hands are now resting, and she knows she's almost seduced him. "Please, Harry. I need this. I need to know."

"Know what?" he asks huskily, lifting his head to look at her.

"If... if it was just a... just the adrenaline," she whispers, dropping her gaze from his to her hands that are resting on his chest now. Then she lifts her eyes to his again and murmurs, "Please, Harry, if you want me, stay. Plea-" But she doesn't get to finish her sentence before his lips are on hers again, hungry and insistent, and his body is pressing her into the wall behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

She leads him by the hand up the stairs, feeling her heart beat fast with anticipation and nerves. Thank God she spent this afternoon and early evening doing a bit of tidying up and cleaning, putting fresh sheets on her bed and towels in the bathroom, she thinks as they reach the landing and she turns left, opening the door to her bedroom before turning to glance up at his face. "This is it," she smiles nervously before letting go of his hand and walking into the dark room. She doesn't want the overhead light on, it's too bright, so she crosses the room quickly and pulls aside the curtains, letting in the soft glow from the street lights outside. "Bloody London weather," she murmurs to break the tension as she glances at him over her shoulder. "Too many clouds; there's no moonlight."

He chuckles and moves towards her, coming to stop beside her and lifting his hand to her waist, using it to guide her round to face him. "I'm glad," he murmurs.

"You're glad?" she frowns, scanning his face in puzzlement. "Why?"

"Because it means two things," he whispers, trailing his hands up from her waist to her shoulders under her dressing gown, softly caressing the sides of her breasts through her pyjama top in the process and making her breathing hitch.

"Which are?" she asks a little breathlessly as he pushes her dressing gown off her body and it falls to the floor with a quiet whoosh.

His hands grip her hips again as he leans in and presses his lips softly against her cheek bone, trailing kisses round to her ear and murmuring, "Firstly because it means I can be the one to do the ravishing tonight." She moans in pleasure as his lips close around her earlobe and she grips his shoulders with her hands, feeling a part of her melt at his words and the rest at the feel of his warm mouth on her skin. "And I've always wanted to do that, Ruth," he adds huskily, his hands slipping under her pyjama top to caress her stomach and sides as his lips find their way to her neck.

She moans, pulling him closer, her fingers spreading into the curls at the nape of his neck as she gasps, "And secondly?" fighting to keep track of their conversation.

"Secondly," he murmurs, lifting his head until their eyes meet and holding her gaze with his beautiful, now smouldering, hazel eyes, "it means that we'll have to do this again... soon... on a moonlit night... so you can keep your promise." Then his lips find hers and she's lost as, for the second time in as many nights, her body takes over, her mind emptying of everything but him and her, together in this moment.

She pulls him towards the bed, their lips still locked together, their hands sliding under clothes and exploring bare skin. His touch is teasingly soft and gentle and it sends shivers running up and down her spine as his lips devour her, sucking on her lips, her chin, her jaw, her neck and moving back again for more. Soon they're sprawled on the bed on top of the covers, their mouths fused together, his body half covering hers while he supports himself on his left forearm and wraps his fingers in her hair, leaving his right hand free to explore, to tease her, running softly over her skin, her stomach and higher, her breast, her nipple. She moans into his mouth, the sensations exquisite as she clings to him with her hands and wraps her left leg around him, anchoring him to her and pushing herself against him, feeling his hardness against her hip. She moans again in pleasure as he responds, but next moment, she feels a stab of pain as his hand begins to kneed her flesh more firmly and she can't help the whimper that escapes her lips.

He pulls back at once, murmuring huskily, "Ruth?" as he stills and looks down at her, frowning in concern. "Are you all right?"

She nods, not wanting him to know, to see the marks on her skin. She'd hoped that he wouldn't notice the bruises in the dim light, but she'd somehow forgotten how much more tender they are tonight compared to yesterday.

"Are you sure?" he asks softly, scanning her face, clearly not convinced.

"Yes," she whispers. "It's just my... breasts. They're a little... tender tonight."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, looking contrite. "I'll be more gentle."

She nods, not wanting to think about it any more, and she slips her hand behind his neck and pulls him towards her until their lips meet in a soft kiss. She runs her tongue over his lower lip and hears him groan in pleasure before he deepens their kiss, his right hand gliding down her side and slipping under her pyjamas to kneed her bum, rocking her against him, her heat rubbing against his thigh and his cock nudging into her hip, making them both moan. Soon his hand has worked its way round, over her thigh to her slickness and she feels his fingertips glide gently across her several times, bringing her so much pleasure that when he slips his fingers inside her and his thumb brushes against her clit a few times, she climaxes powerfully, arching her back towards him and moaning in ecstasy. She slumps back against the bed, totally exhausted, her muscles lax, her eyelids heavy. She feels him moving, jogging the bed, but she can't lift her eyelids and all she can manage to do is whimper, lifting her hand towards him, worried he's leaving. "Don't go," she breathes.

He chuckles softly and presses his lips against hers before murmuring, "I wouldn't dream of it. You're so beautiful, Ruth, especially when you come. I don't think I'll ever get enough of you. Let me look at you."

She hums in pleasure and feels his hands grip her pyjama bottoms and pull them off, taking her knickers with them and gently pushing her knees apart, and she's so lost in a fog of deep lassitude, that she doesn't even feel self-conscious about him gazing at her naked sex. She feels his lips gently kiss her mound, moaning in pleasure as he moves lower, his tongue venturing out to taste her, his lips closing around her clit and sucking on it gently while his fingers caress her thighs and slip inside her. "Oh God, Harry," she pants, finding her voice as the energy begins to build inside her once more.

She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, his eyes intense and hungry, peeking above her pubic bone as he laps at her sex, and it's possibly the most erotic sight she's ever seen. "Harry," she gasps, closing her eyes momentarily as he does something exquisite with his tongue and moaning in pleasure, but she forces them open again and murmurs, "I want you, Harry. Come here."

He doesn't hesitate, planting a soft kiss against her pussy and sitting up between her legs before reaching for the condom that's lying on the bed. "_You're_ well prepared," she comments in surprise as she watches him rip open the packet and extract the latex tube, noticing that he's taken all his clothes off already.

"I was a scout," he smiles, looking up at her with twinkling eyes, "not to mention an army officer _and_ a spy. I think, at this point, it's probably ingrained in my DNA." He slips it on and leans over her, supporting his weight on his forearms and kissing her lips softly before adding, "Besides, we can't keep having you visit the doctor everyday, Ruth. Once was understandable, but more would be careless bordering on irresponsible."

"Everyday?" she teases, reaching her hands up to stroke his naked skin, his chest, his sides, his back and shoulders. "_You're_ optimistic!"

"I know," he smiles, "one of my biggest faults. Cheerful and optimistic – that's me."

She laughs and lifts her head to kiss him, feeling her heart expand with love for him. She wraps her legs around his hips and feels him push into her, filling her slowly with his length as their kiss becomes deeper and they both moan in pleasure. Her hands roam over his bare back, delighting in the feel of him as he begins to move inside her, slowly and steadily, sending sparks of pleasure straight through her.

"Oh God, Ruth," he groans as they break apart for air, "you feel so good... so very good." He drops his face to nuzzle her neck, trailing kisses down towards her chest, kissing and licking her skin as his hands begin to unbutton her pyjama top, and it feels so exquisite that she doesn't react until it's too late.

He lifts his head to look at her and she sees his face and body freeze in shock, bringing her back to her senses with a jolt. "Christ!" he exclaims and she feels him pull aside her pyjama top as he shifts his weight onto his left arm. "Oh God, Ruth. I didn't do this, did I?" he asks, his eyes darting up to hers and she feels tears spring to her own as she shakes her head no. So much for forgetting about it.

"He... he..." she chokes out, swallowing convulsively in an effort to keep her emotions in check, but finding herself unable to finish the sentence without breaking down. Her left hand reaches to close her top as she sees his eyes flash, his jaw set and his nostrils flaring in anger, but he takes her hand in his to stop her, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he seeks to control his emotions.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is soft with compassion as he lets go of her hand and strokes her cheek with his fingertips before lowering his gaze again to look at the damage. "Oh, Ruth. It must be so tender. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't..." she stammers, still fighting to keep the tears at bay. "It looks..." She turns her face away from him in embarrassment as she struggles to maintain control, pulling her top closed and, this time, he doesn't attempt to stop her.

"Ruth," he murmurs softly. "Look at me, Ruth." She feels his fingers stroke her cheek, coaxing her gently to turn to him, and when she does, his eyes are soft and gentle as he whispers, "You're beautiful, Ruth. So beautiful. It's just bruising. It will fade..." He smiles softly and she nods, unable to speak and yet feeling so grateful that he's being so gentle and kind, especially since they're in the middle of making love and she knows it can't be easy for him to just stop. "But even if it never did, Ruth," he adds, his eyes shining with an odd mixture of tenderness and fierceness, "you'd still be beautiful and I'd still want you. This doesn't define who you are or how much you are... valued, how much I care." And now she can't hold back the tears, turning her face towards his left shoulder as her body begins to shake with quiet sobs.

"Hush," he murmurs softly and she feels him slip out of her and move over to lie beside her, pulling the covers out from under them and wrapping his right arm around her as he covers their bodies and presses his lips against her forehead, holding her against his strong, broad chest. "It's all right, Ruth," he coos, "I've got you. He can't harm you any more; he's dead... It's all over now... I'm here; you're safe."

And now that the floodgates have opened, she can't stop weeping, sobbing against his chest as she wraps her arms around him and clings to him for dear life, crying her heart out over what happened, what didn't happen and what could have happened. His fingers are running through her hair, his hand rubbing her back, his lips pressing soft kisses against her forehead and whispering words of comfort, supporting her and making her feel safe so she can let it all out.

Eventually, she runs out of tears and she begins to quieten in his arms, feeling acutely embarrassed to have fallen apart like this. So much for being strong in front of Harry, she thinks grimly. "I'm sorry," she mutters against his chest and begins to pull away from him. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's all right, Ruth," he interrupts, pressing his lips against her forehead again, not letting her turn away from him. "You have nothing to apologise for. I'm glad I was here. What you're going through... it's normal after such a... traumatic experience. And I can tell you, it's no fun going through it on your own."

"You've... had that happen to you too?" she stammers in surprise, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment in her concern for him.

"Not the exact same thing, Ruth," he says softly, "but I have been... interrogated in the past... on more than one occasion."

"Interrogated?" she asks. "You mean tortured."

"Yes," he sighs.

"Oh Harry," she frowns in concern, her mind flooding with images of Harry in pain, subjected to every type of torture she's seen pictures and videos of in all her time at Five.

"It's over and dealt with," he shrugs, softly stroking her hair, "but the point is that the nature of the... experience makes little difference to how one responds to it. It still brings up the same feelings of... shame, guilt, helplessness, fear, and even self-disgust, self-loathing, hopelessness, and despair... It takes time to... deal with all that, to process it and move past it, but the most important thing to realise right now, Ruth, is that it's not your fault. None of it. Not that they found out who you are, not that you were captured, not failing to escape, not that Adam or I were hurt and in danger, not that... that _despicable_ excuse for a man manhandled you and almost... raped you. _None _of it is your fault, Ruth. Do you hear me? It's not your fault." She nods, tears gathering in her eyes again and beginning to slide down her cheeks as she listens to him describe her feelings so accurately. "I'm going to keep telling you this everyday, Ruth, until you accept it and start telling yourself the same thing. It's not your fault."

"But if I hadn't been captured," she whispers softly, struggling to accept what he's saying, knowing that if she'd been a little more careful none of it would have happened, "then we'd have been safe, and you wouldn't have... almost died, or had to... to kill a man... for me."

"Perhaps," he concedes, pulling back a little to look at her. "But at what cost, Ruth? If you and Adam hadn't been captured, we could have lost them. They could have gone underground and we mightn't have been able to stop their attack on two of the busiest train lines in the country. How many people would have died then, Ruth? How much more damage would this group have caused in the future? How many more women would have suffered at the hands of that... _monster?..._ And how many more months, years even, would we have worked together, hoping for this intimacy between us, before one of us had the courage to do something about it?"

"I don't know," she admits.

"We can't dwell on the what ifs, Ruth. It isn't healthy and it doesn't solve anything," he smiles, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, wiping away any remaining traces of her tears. "I learnt that the hard way, but you're much smarter than I am. And if I can help you get past this because of some of the worst experiences of my life, then I will not have suffered in vein and that's another silver lining to add to the rest... When it gets too much, try to focus on the good that came out of it. How you stayed strong, how you escaped and swam for hours, how you saved my life, how your work helped capture a group of ruthless terrorists. Okay?"

She nods but can't help murmuring, "I didn't save you, Harry. That was Fred."

"You pulled me out of the water and performed CPR long before Fred arrived on the scene, Ruth," he replies, his eyes suddenly dark and intense. "You didn't give up on me and that means more to me than I could ever possibly say."

She smiles softly, glancing down at his chin to avoid the intensity of his gaze for a moment before she looks back at him and whispers, "I couldn't bear to lose you. You mean too much to me for that."

"Then I'm the luckiest man alive," he murmurs huskily as he leans close and presses his lips softly against hers, his kiss gentle, chaste and yet so incredibly sensual too as he caresses her lips with his own and runs his thumb across her cheek and jaw, his fingers trailing along her neck. He pulls back, smiling softly and whispers, "Now... it's late. Time to sleep or tomorrow you'll be exhausted. I've kept you awake long enough."

"But, Harry," she protests, "you didn't... I mean, it's not fair," she blushes as she struggles to find the words to express herself, but he comes to her rescue again.

"It's fine, Ruth," he smiles. "I'm fine. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not some... randy teen who can't cope with a little... delayed gratification."

"I _have_ noticed, Harry," she replies, giving him a shy smile. "It's... you're quite... wonderful, but I'd still like to... _try_ to give you as much pleasure as you give me."

"You do, Ruth," he reassures her. "You do... so much more than you realise." His gaze is soft and tender again and it makes her breath catch in her throat, unable to quite believe that she's not imagining all this. This is the Harry of her daydreams - kind, soft, loving, warm, considerate, generous, affectionate, supportive. Could he possibly be real? Isn't he just a figment of her imagination? How can the demanding, often angry, frequently devious, sometimes ruthless, and occasionally violent man she works for be the same person? "Let's sleep, Ruth," he murmurs, interrupting her struggle to merge the two men into one. "It's late."

She nods, unable to find her voice, and closes her eyes, scared that he can read all that she feels for him in her gaze. She hears his quiet whisper of goodnight and repeats it back to him, feeling his hand cover hers as it lies on the mattress between them.

When she wakes up the following morning, she's alone.


	12. Chapter 12

She opens her eyes and turns towards his side of the bed only to find it empty. The smile slips from her lips and she frowns, lifting her head to look around the room. He's not there, nor can she find any trace of his presence in her room last night other than the slight indentation in the pillow beside her and a gentle whiff of his scent clinging to it as she presses her face against it and inhales deeply. She wasn't dreaming then, she realises in relief as she turns her head to glance at the clock. It's just after eight in the morning and it's Saturday today, so she doesn't have to go into work as early as she normally would on a weekday. And besides, Adam had insisted that she take things easy over the next few days, suggesting that she consider taking a few days off, but she'd flatly refused to do that, telling him that she's fine and just wants to get back to work. In truth, the prospect of staying home all day with nothing to distracted her from her thoughts had seemed so terrifying that, when he'd reluctantly agreed to let her get back to work right away, she'd jumped at the chance despite the prerequisite that she have daily sessions with the resident MI-5 psychologist until she was given the all clear by her.

She gets out of bed and picks up her pyjama bottoms, knickers and her robe from the floor, pulling them all on and sliding her feet into her slippers, smiling softly as she moves over to the window to draw the curtains, amazed at how considerate he's been in pulling them closed when he got up so the light didn't wake her. He really is such a wonderful man, she thinks in mild amazement as she moves towards the door, hoping he's still here despite the lateness of the hour. On the landing, she stops and listens for several seconds, but the house is quiet. "Harry?" she calls tentatively, but gets no response, so she peers into the bathroom and spare room, finding both doors ajar, before going downstairs to check the kitchen and living room. There's no sign of him anywhere, and a quick look in the hall confirms what she's been dreading since she woke up alone this morning. His shoes and jacket are both missing; he's gone.

She sighs sadly, trying to push aside her fear that she's driven him away somehow as she wonders back into the kitchen and fills up the kettle to make some tea, telling herself that there's no reason why he should be having second thoughts this morning, and that he probably just needed to be at work early for some meeting or other. Things had been fine last night, even though she'd fallen to pieces in his arms, in the middle of sex, not really the smartest move she's ever made. But he'd seemed fine about it at the time and she _had_ offered to... continue after she'd stopped blubbering all over him. Though now she comes to think of it, he was undoubtedly turned off by the whole weepy, pathetic look she must have had going on at the time.

"Stop it, Ruth," she says out loud angrily as she flicks on the kettle. "You're being silly."

There's a quiet mew in answer as Fidget enters the kitchen and pads over to her, wrapping himself around her legs once before she bends down to pick him up, cradling him in her arms as she smiles and strokes his soft fur. "_You_ love me, don't you, Fidget?" she asks softly, "Or is it just that you want your breakfast?" The cat purrs in answer as she strokes his soft, grey fur, and it's only then that it occurs to her that perhaps he's left a note. She glances up to check the kitchen table and counter, crosses the hall to check every flat surface in the living room and then goes back upstairs to the bedroom, abandoning Fidget on the way up with a quiet apology and a promise to get his breakfast soon when he squirms out of her arms. But it's no use; there's no note.

Her heart plummets once more and she sighs deeply before reluctantly going back to the kitchen to feed the cat and taking herself off to the bathroom to shower and get ready for her day. She slips out of her robe and pyjama top, staring at the bruises on her chest in the bathroom mirror as she fights to hold onto her composure, the sight of her marred skin bringing it all back, and she has to grip the basin with both hands and tell herself to breathe, closing her eyes and letting the memory of Harry's words wash over her and soothe her. But the fact that he's left this morning without saying goodbye or leaving a note diminishes their power significantly, and she finds herself doubting him, his honesty, his commitment and feelings for her.

She knows she's probably overreacting, reading too much into it, and that there's very likely a perfectly logical explanation as to why he left without a word, but her emotions seem to be all over the place this morning and her normally level headed approach to life conspicuous by it's absence. What if he no longer wants her now that he's seen how weak she is, she finds herself wondering. What if he thinks her damaged goods, needy, insecure? What if he transfers her out of section D as a result of her breakdown last night? Surely he would have left a note if everything was fine, wouldn't he? Wasn't that the normal thing to do?

She looks at herself in the mirror again. She's never been particularly beautiful and her body now is definitely showing signs of ageing. Why would a man such as Harry, who could have any woman he wanted, choose her? He wouldn't, she thinks sadly and feels tears spring to her eyes even as she tells herself to get a grip. Then she suddenly remembers her phone. What if he's left a message on that? A text like last night? With a growing sense of desperation and tears clouding her vision now, she pulls open the door and walks straight into Harry.

He catches her and his hands rise to her upper arms, steadying her for a moment as he smiles down at her and murmurs, "Good morning, Ruth," in a warm voice, full of pleasure, but then he catches sight of her face and frowns in concern. "Ruth? What's the matter? What's wrong?"

She shakes her head, unable to speak as she buries her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him in relief while she struggles for control, inwardly berating herself for doubting him and for falling apart in his arms _again._ He's going to think her utterly bonkers, she realises as she tells herself to stop being such a child and get a hold of herself.

He's silent as his warm hands move slowly up and down her bare back, stroking her delicately as he patiently waits for her to pull herself together, his lips pressing a soft kiss against her hair. "Sorry," she murmurs after a few moments as she pulls back, wiping away her tears with her hands before lifting her eyes to his, keeping her arms in front of her chest to hide her nakedness as she blushes in embarrassment at the situation she's managed to land herself in again. "You must think me such a pathetic-", but she doesn't get to complete the thought.

He presses his finger swiftly against her lips and shakes his head. "Don't even think about completing that sentence, Ruth. You're one of the bravest women I know."

She looks away as he removes his finger, murmuring, "I don't feel very brave."

"No one feels brave at the time," he replies, cupping her cheek with his hand and turning her face towards him. "But you _are, _Ruth. Brave and so strong." She shakes her head and drops her gaze, so he adds, "Then think about it this way. If what happened had happened not to you, but to someone else... Zoe, for example, or me. If our positions were reversed now, would you think me brave?"

She looks up at him and finds his eyes on hers, warm and yet challenging. "Yes," she admits quietly after a moment's deliberation.

"There you go then," he smiles somewhat smugly.

"But that's different," she objects. "I'm not your boss. I shouldn't be..." She tails off, seeing the frown that creases his brow and the flash of anger in his eyes as he drops his hand from her face.

"I'm not your boss either, Ruth," he states flatly. "I'm not here as your boss and I won't be your boss again until I step out of your house and into my car."

"But-" she begins to object, but doesn't get any further.

"But nothing," he states. "You're my girlfriend, and as such, you're free to laugh when you're happy, cry when you're sad, yell at me when you're angry, and even call me a selfish bastard when I leave the loo seat up, or scream at me to get out when I forget some anniversary or other." She can't help smiling at that, glancing up at him to find a small smile on his lips and a tender look in his eyes as he adds softly, "Though of course, I'm hoping, you'll also want to kiss me and touch me... and ravish me in the moonlight."

She nods, her smile broadening as she lifts her eyes to his. "You can count on it," she says tilting her head up to receive his kiss and sighing into his mouth. Girlfriend, she thinks dreamily and feels her heart lift. He just called her his girlfriend.

"Good morning," she smiles when they break apart, and then adds uncertainly, "I missed waking up beside you today."

"Sorry," he apologises. "I didn't want to wake you. You needed sleep." Then he allows his gaze to drop from her face to her exposed skin for the first time, whispering, "You're so beautiful, Ruth." His hands reach up to cup her shoulders and trail down her arms to her elbows, pulling them gently away from her naked chest so he can look at her. She allows him to pull them back, revealing her breasts and watching his reaction apprehensively, but she only sees pleasure in his face and just a hint of desire. "May I?" he asks softly as he lifts his eyes to hers. She nods and watches him lean towards her and softly brush his lips against her damaged skin, planting feather-light kisses over every inch of it as if trying to kiss her better, take away all the hurt and pain, physical and emotional, and almost moving her to tears again with his tenderness before he pulls back, saying, "Exquisite. You're exquisite, Ruth." He lifts his eyes to hers and pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his pelvis forwards so she can feel his arousal as he murmurs huskily in her ear, "See what you do to me, Ruth? I want you so much."

"And I you," she admits quietly, making him groan and turn his head to kiss her, a deep, passionate kiss that makes her toes curl and her head spin.

When he pulls back, he leans his head forward, resting his forehead against hers and taking deep lungfuls of air before murmuring huskily, "But unfortunately duty calls and this'll have to wait. I need to get to Whitehall."

She sighs and pulls back, nodding her head. "Perhaps later then," she says before she loses her nerve.

"I hope so, Ruth," he smiles, running his hands down her arms to her elbows. "I need something to look forward to."

She nods, feeling her cheeks heat up with pleasure as she dips her gaze to his throat, marvelling at how happy he makes her, and though part of her knows that the closer she lets him get, the harder will be the fall if he were to end it, she can't seem to help herself; she loves him too much already. She drops her gaze to his chest to hide these treacherous thoughts from him, and frowns as she realises that he's wearing different clothes to those he'd arrived in last night. "Did you go home to change?" she asks.

"I had a change of clothes in the car," he replies.

She shakes her head and smiles at him. "You _were_ prepared," she says.

He shrugs adorably and objects, "Not really. I just grabbed a suit before coming over, and stopped at an off-licence on the way. The rest was already in the car."

"Why?" she frowns.

"I keep a bag full of essentials in the boot... just in case," he admits.

"Right," she says, dropping her gaze from his as the implications of that statement sink in. "Well, I'd better get ready for work," she adds, taking a step back into the bathroom as she turns to grasp the door, needing something to steady her. She raises her eyes to his briefly and gives him a small smile, trying desperately to hide the pain that's gripping her heart again at the realisation that she's just another notch on his bedpost.

He nods, frowning slightly as he asks, "Ruth... will you be okay?"

"Of course," she smiles in an effort to convince him that everything's fine and feeling rather grateful, all of a sudden, that she's been all over the place this morning; it makes for a very good excuse for her current shifting mood. "I'll be fine, Harry."

He doesn't look convinced, but doesn't press her, saying instead, "All right. I have to go, but I'll see you later, yes?" She nods, so he smiles, adding, "I've brought you coffee and a Danish pastry for breakfast. They're in the kitchen."

"Thank you," she says, her smile genuine now, feeling touched by his thoughtfulness and suddenly understanding his absence this morning.

"It's my pleasure, Ruth," he smiles, looking less worried about her now. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back and adding, "See you later."

"Bye, Harry," she whispers and begins to close the door as he turns to go downstairs. Then she locks it and removes the rest of her clothes, turning on the shower and stepping in, her tears and sobs getting lost in the cascade of water falling on top of her.


	13. Chapter 13

_Three days later, Exeter_

Adam had been right; she _does_ need time off work, not just because of what had happened on the op, but also because... well, because of Harry. As grateful as she is for his concern and support, the fact that they've embarked on this new relationship between them just after all that's happened to both of them is muddying the waters for her considerably and she no longer knows which way's up, or whether she's coming or going.

After he'd left and she'd finally pulled herself together, got ready for work and gone downstairs into the kitchen, the sight of the breakfast he'd brought her laid out on a plate, the table set for one, and a note propped up against the paper cup holding her now, undoubtedly, stone cold coffee had almost reduced her to tears again and she'd immediately realised how unfair she was being on him. He was trying _so_ hard to be sweet and she was unable to see past her fears and insecurities long enough to really appreciate him and all that he was doing for her. And that's when she'd decided that she really wasn't ready to go back to work, and within a few minutes, she'd arranged everything, calling Adam and her mother before she'd made herself some tea and sat down to eat her breakfast, all the while staring at her phone as she tried to muster the courage to call Harry.

In the end, her call had gone straight to voice mail where she'd left a short, somewhat flustered and quite likely incoherent message, thanking him for coming over last night and for breakfast, and explaining that she felt she needed a few days away from London and was going to visit her mother. And now, here she is, staring out the kitchen window and wondering why he hasn't called.

He'd seemed so concerned for her yesterday; could he really have forgotten about her already? Or is he angry that she left without a word when she'd promised to see him later and... No, she tells herself firmly. It can't be just about the sex. She'd already decided that on the train ride down here and she can't keep second guessing herself. After all, he'd told her as much when he'd come over, and besides, if it _had_ been all about the physical pleasure, then he wouldn't have hesitated when she'd invited him up to bed. There has to be more to it than that. The question is, how much more?

She hasn't slept well the last few nights, partly because of the nightmares that have plagued her, but also because she's been worrying about this very thing. How much does Harry Pearce really care for her? She knows how fiercely loyal he is when it comes to members of his team, how hard he works to keep them safe, how much it costs him when they are harmed, to what lengths he will go to protect and avenge them, and how hurt he is by any betrayal on their part. She's certainly part of that, part of his team, his surrogate family, and therefore, important to him in that way. But then there's also the physical attraction between them, which makes her skin flush and belly begin to churn with desire every time she thinks of it, the ghost of his touch and the echo of him inside her making her heart begin to pound and her palms to sweat. She wonders if he's affected by it just as deeply as she is, but then dismisses the thought quickly. He must have had so many women more experienced than her who could give him so much more pleasure. But then, why risk it? Why pursue something with her at all?

Not that their first time had been planned by either of them. It had just happened and now... she really can't work him out. Perhaps it's a middle life crisis of sorts, she thinks with a frown, though it's hardly a typical way for it to manifest itself. Then again, unlike most men his age, he has enough excitement in his life to not need another source of it, so perhaps he's pursuing quite the opposite – companionship and intimacy, something he's been lacking for a very long time. But where does that leave her when he gets bored and restless again, as she's convinced that he eventually will? She sighs, rubbing her face with her hands.

"Tea, darling?" her mother asks, stepping into the kitchen and almost making her jump.

"Christ, Mum!" she exclaims. "You scared me half to death."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," her mother smiles. "Tea?"

"Yes, please," she nods, grateful for the distraction and turning to help make it. It's been good to see her mother and she's pleased she decided to come down to stay with her and her step-father. Normally she's bored to death during her visits here and the endless shopping trips and dropping in to see relatives and family friends it entails, but this time, she's just grateful for the distraction they provide and her mother seems pleased by how focused and present she is, though Ruth's sure that if she knew the reason behind her determination to not let her thoughts wonder, she'd be horrified. Her mother still thinks she works for the Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs and she'd like to keep it that way as she's a worrier and it wouldn't do her any good to know that Ruth's a spy.

Soon they're sipping their tea quietly, sitting on either side of the kitchen table, a plate of home-made shortbread biscuits between them. As Ruth reaches for one, her mother asks softly, "Are you quite all right, Ruth darling? You look so tired."

"I'm fine, Mum," she answers automatically, but seeing the worry in her mother's eyes as she sits back in her chair, she adds, "I haven't been sleeping well lately, that's all. Work has been busy and we've had to put in a lot of overtime."

"Are you sure that's all, Darling?" she says. "You seem... different, a little troubled."

"I'm fine, Mum," she smiles. "_Really._"

"You can talk to me, you know," she offers then. "I know we haven't been... as close as we might have been, Ruth, and I'm sorry for that... but I'm still your mother and I love you."

"I know, Mum," she nods. "I love you too. It's been... good, coming here. Thank you."

"I'm very glad you're here. We don't see you nearly as often as we'd like."

"Well, work's busy," she shrugs and takes another bite of her biscuit. "Where's David?" she asks in a bid to chance the subject.

"Golf," is her mother's simple reply.

"Ah," she nods and falls silent again. In truth, she never knows what to talk to her mother about. As Elizabeth has just pointed out, they've never been close, not since she'd been sent off to boarding school from the age of eleven. It had been something her parents had always wanted for her, and she'd been looking forward to it herself, but then her father had been killed in that horrific car crash and she'd wanted to stay home, close to her memories of him. Her mother had insisted, however, and she _had _eventually settled in and excelled, but deep down she's never really forgiven her mother for that, even though she knows that she did it because she thought is was best. "Were you and Dad happy, Mum?" she asks suddenly, taking both herself and her mother by surprise. "I mean, I know you loved him, but... were you happy?"

Her mother takes a sip of her tea, clearly unprepared for the question, before replying, "Yes. I mean we had our moments like every couple, but we were happy... and very much in love even after fifteen years of marriage. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," she murmurs, dropping her gaze to her hands that are fiddling with her tea cup. "I suppose I've always wondered. I have some very fond memories of Dad, but I also remember that he worked hard and wasn't always home."

"Well," she smiles, "he was a doctor... and I suppose, it did put some strain on our marriage from time to time, but overall, we were happy." They're silent for some time before she speaks again, saying, "He was special, your father, and I loved him deeply. Losing him was... It broke my heart... And then you going off to school so soon after... It wasn't easy."

"But I never wanted to go," Ruth protests somewhat forcefully. "You made me go."

"I know, Darling," her mother agrees with a sad smile. "I thought it was for the best and you did so well in that school. Your father had really wanted you to go there because he knew you'd get an excellent education and you were so smart, Ruth. He wanted the best for you and I knew you'd be bored silly at the local secondary school. I couldn't go against his wishes... though it was hard for both of us at the time."

Ruth frowns and drops her gaze to her cup of tea, struggling to digest this new piece of information. She's always blamed her mother for sending her away, not understanding the true reasons for her decision, or how hard it must have been for her to let her go. She's always assumed that her mother's motives had been primarily selfish, to get her out of the way. "And David?" she asks suddenly, lifting her eyes to her mother's face.

"He's a good man," her mother replies after a momentary hesitation, "and I love him, but I was never _in_ love with him, and he knows that. I know you've always blamed me for marrying him so soon after your father's passing, and I have to say, I wasn't planning or expecting it myself. But he was good for me, Ruth. He made me smile and laugh again, and I needed that... I needed to put myself back together again and move on with my life."

Ruth nods, wondering if she'd be able to do that if Harry... but she mustn't go there. Then as if her mother has read her mind, she asks gently, "You've met someone, haven't you? That's why you're asking me about your father and David, and why you haven't been sleeping well lately."

She lifts her eyes to her mother's again, ready to deny everything, but something stops her at the last moment and she nods instead. Perhaps it's the recognition that her mother _does _care for her, that she'd been wrong to think otherwise, or perhaps it's the realisation that she has no one else to talk to about this, but she suddenly wants to open up to her and ask for her advise. "Partly," she murmurs after taking a sip of her tea, her eyes lowered once more. "He's... I've known him for a while now; we work together. And I've know for some time, I think, that he... likes me, but he... his job is... he needs to lie a lot and he's very good at deceiving people, so..."

"You're not sure he's being sincere?" her mother finishes for her.

"No," she sighs, lifting her eyes to her mother's.

"But, Ruth darling," she says gently, "if he's not worthy of your trust-"

"No, it's not that," she hastens to add. "I _do _trust him. I'd trust him with my life. He's very loyal and so... kind hearted, underneath all the bluster and bravado."

"Then why don't you trust him to be honest with you about his intentions?" she asks.

"He... well, he has the reputation of being..." she hesitates, "a bit of a lady's man and I don't feel... I'm scared that he'll... move on and I... I'm in love with him. I'm scared he'll break my heart because he doesn't feel the same way."

"It sounds like you're already seeing this man," her mother replies after a moment's deliberation, waiting for her to confirm her suspicions with a nod before continuing, "and from what you say, he's a good person and your only concern is that he might not have deep feelings for you but, Darling, not everyone falls in love at first sight. It's the kind of thing that grows with time after you get to know someone. I was never in love with David, but with time, I grew to love him and I don't regret marrying him. Perhaps this man... What's his name?"

"Harry," she whispers.

"Perhaps Harry will love you too with time," she says. "It's no reason to hold back, just because he doesn't love you yet."

"I know," Ruth sighs, "but the thing is... he's actually my boss, and I'm scared that, if it doesn't work out, we won't be able to work together and I'll have to leave."

"I see," her mother nods with understanding. "That _does_ put a different spin on things... But isn't it a bit late to worry about that, Darling? You're already dating him, aren't you?"

"It... we," she stammers, "we ended up... We were drunk." She finishes, not wanting to explain anything about what really happened between them, then seeing her mother's surprised face, she adds, "It was stupid, I know, but he _did _admit that he's been wanting to ask me out for some time now. We work well together and I think he didn't want to risk jeopardising that."

"Which is a good sign, Ruth," she says gently. "If he values your work and your working relationship then that's a sign that he's after more than a short... interlude."

"Yes," she agrees. "I suppose that's true."

"You're a lovely person, Ruth," her mother smiles. "Any man would be lucky to have you and your love. Don't underestimate yourself and all you have to offer him. It doesn't sound as if _he_ does, so don't sell yourself short. If you love this man, Harry, then he must be a special person. You have a good head on your shoulders and you wouldn't bestow your love on someone unworthy of it. So I think, it really comes down one thing, Ruth - is it worth the risk? How strong are your feelings and can you see yourself having a future with Harry? Is he more important to you than your job, which I know you love very much."

"That depends on how he feels about me," she sighs. "It's a wonderful job, Mum. I love it and I don't want to lose it."

"Would you love it just as much if Harry wasn't part of it?" her mother asks rather astutely.

"No," she admits, "but not just because of my feelings for him. It's because he's an excellent boss. He really cares about the work we do and our team is very close-knit as a result. It's not often you find that."

"No, it's not," she agrees.

"I'm scared to lose that," Ruth sighs.

"Perhaps you already have, Ruth," her mother replies, and at her frown explains, "It might already be impossible to go back to the way things were at work, but that needn't necessarily be a bad thing. All relationships change with time, and although change can be very frightening, it can lead to many good things, not just disasters. Perhaps this is a step towards something better for both of you."

"You're right," she nods, smiling at her mother. "I'm over-analysing everything."

"It sounds to me as if you need to make a choice and then give it your very best," her mother replies, reaching for her hand across the table and giving it a squeeze. "You're wonderfully determined when you put your mind to something, Ruth. Look how well you did at school and University and how far you've come in your job! But it's not only in your work that you can use that, Darling. In fact, if you love Harry as much as I think you do, then you probably owe it to yourself to give it your best shot, otherwise you'll always wonder and regret, and life's too short for that. If there's one thing I've learned from losing your father, it's that."

"Thanks, Mum," she smiles, getting up and walking round the table to give her a hug. "I'm so glad I came to see you."

"Me too, Darling," her mother replies. "I _do_ hope everything works out for the best."


End file.
